


And The Darkness Consumes.

by orphan_account



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Biting, Bottom Bill Denbrough, Consensual Somnophilia, Consensual Underage Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead People, Dream Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Alive, Found Family, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Giant Spiders, Gore, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Large Cock, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, PTSD, References to Depression, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Scarification, Transformation, Violence, Xenophilia, blood letting, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bill Denbrough was supposed to be enjoying his summer vacation with his old (and new) friends. Not being caught in his parents divorce, comforting his little brother through nightmares of being left alone.He should be able to ride his bike through town without a care, feeling the wind in his short hair as he rushes past old houses and even older people. Not trying to lead his friends through a house made of nightmares, hoping to god that whatever lives in the house goes after him and not someone like Stan, or Eddie; trying his hardest to keep his loved ones safe.He should be able to grow into a healthy, relatively happy adult and live the rest of his life out. Not currently bargaining his life for those of his friends with a creature so much older than the universe with which it resides in.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Pennywise
Comments: 40
Kudos: 271





	1. Week's Almost Out.

The start of his journey began just as any other tragic tale. It had been a rainy, late October morning when Bill woke up; the pitter-pattering of water droplets had been slowly dragging him from his dreams in an almost slug-like crawl. He cracked his eyes open, scanning his room with what little sunlight the storm clouds let through his slightly parted curtains. He flopped around from his belly onto his back, lanky legs kicking the sheets further down himself, forcing them to tangle at his feet. He listened to the silence of the house; to the lack of screaming and things being thrown. No midnight phone calls to layers, or strange women being brought home while his mom was out. He closed his eyes again, wishing to fall back asleep and away from these ever-present thoughts; he hated how his own house was being split in half, and he could do nothing about it. But before he could entice himself to another hour or so's dreamless sleep, the almost silent falls of light, tiny footsteps caught his attention. He shut his eyes and turned back onto his stomach; face aimed towards the entrance to his room, he waited until the slow creaking of his door was audible.

Billy and Georgie had this little ritual of waking the other on weekends. If Georgie woke up first, he'd try and sneak into Bill's room and jump on him, try and wrestle him off the bed. If Bill woke up first, he'd run into Georgie's room and excitedly jump on the bed, dragging Georgie from sleep with pillow fights, or tickle fights; and on a few occasions, Bill would walk in and imitate Marry Poppins. He'd stride in and open Georgie's blinds, singing off-key and as loudly as he could without awaking their constantly angered and agitated parents. _ "Just a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down," _he would sing as he dragged Georgie's blankets down his tiny body, ruffling his hair violently as he continued on and on. He'd soon grab Georgie out of bed completely and hold the young boy on his back, giving him a fast - but not dangerously fast- piggy-back ride up and down the stairs a few times until he'd end up seating the boy at their kitchen table and start breakfast.

Evening out his breathing, until it sounded like he was still deep in sleep, he listened intently for the sounds of those footsteps enter his room. Cracking his eyelids slightly open, he watches as a small figure steps up to the side of his bed, closer to the window than the bed itself. He watches as the figure moves, he hears the light footsteps of his younger brother as he gets closer and closer, the area between them closing shorter with every small step, until Georgie was within grasping distance. Deeming him close enough to safely grab, Bill's eyes shoot open, and he jumps forward to grasp Georgie in his arms tightly; pulls his brother up onto the bed with him until the boy is right in front of him, already squealing his delight. Hands reaching under armpits and wiggling against his sides until the boy bursts out laughing, Bill brings Georgie up further, placing the boy on his lap as he continues his assault on Georgie's sides. Georgie's face turns pink from his laughter, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he tries to push Bill's hands from his sides.

"B-Billy! Billy stop I can't breath!" Georgie laughs, wiggling as much as he can in the small space in Bill's lap until Bill finally releases him, letting the boy jump from his grip as he catches his breath. Bill stands from his bed and stretches, joints loosening as he reaches his hands above his head. Jerking his head towards the window once Georgie can finally breathe, face slowly toning down to his usual pale, he offers his plans for the morning. "It's raining o-out side. Wuh-Wanna go play? W-Weh-We'll make a p-pa-paper boat; coat her in w-wax, to keep her from sinking. We c-could sail her all over town." Bill pushes the rest of the blanket form his feet to keep them from dragging across his floor, the cold wood beneath his bare feet sending shocks and shivers up his legs. " 'She?' Why's it called she?"

Bill places a hand in Georgie's hair, ruffling the sleep-mused strands as they leave his room and step out into the dim, silent hallway. "W-we always call b-boat's she, Georgie." They made their slow, leisurely way down the stairs; the rain still landing in fat droplets on the windows and the glass on the front door. The sun was barely peeking out from behind the heavy rain clouds encompassing Dairy, but the light was enough to illuminate the kitchen's walls and counters as Billy begins making breakfast; pulling out two pan's and placing them over the stove, Bill turns the heat on medium and lets the metal warm-up. He moves around to the fridge and pulls out some bacon and eggs, once more ruffling Georgie's hair as he passes him. 

"Can you g-geh-get the milk from the f-f-fr-fridge?" Billy asks once he's flipped the eggs and bacon, bread sitting in the toaster as he began to move the food onto their plates. The fridge door opens as Georgie clambers to grasp the carton, Bill leaning up and handing down two glass cups for him to fill once he's removed the eggs and bacon from their respective pans. "y-Yu-Your breakfast is served, y-your highness." He places the plate before Georgie's seat, a fork already in the boys' hands as he automatically began shoving an egg into his mouth. Bill himself took his time, watching the absolute heathen before him eat like he was some sort of caveman; he only ever lets Georgie eat like this when his parents aren't around. One less thing to yell at them for, after all.

"Can we go play now?" Georgie asks the moment Bill finished, having practically been vibrating in his seat as he watches Bill eat in a ball of impatience. "Y-Yeah, go get your rain c-coat and boots on an-and we can g-g-gg-go." Bill takes both plates, cups, and pans into the sink and washes them off, lining them up in the drying rack before rushing silently up the stairs two steps at a time to grab his own boots and raincoat, layering them up and over his pajamas. He hears when Georgie finishes dressing, since the squeaking of his boots as he runs to Bills' room is almost too loud for their silent house. He pushes Bills' door open and grasps his hand, trying to pull him down the stairs. "Alright, c-cuh-calm down, we still need to make that b-buh-boat. Can you get m-me the wax?" Bill asks as he moves to his desk, grasping a piece of paper and begins calmly folding it into the shape of a boat.

"From the cellar? Can't you go with me?" Georgie whines, his arms flopping to his sides indignantly once Bill is finished with the folding, placing the boat upright on the side of his desk. Bill rolls his eyes when he turns around and notices the pout on Georgie's face, and instinctively reached down to button up Georgie's first button, sealing the jacket closer to his neck. "Sh-sure, let's go together then, you b-big baby." Bill lets Georgie grasp his hand tightly as they begin their trek over to the cellar. They cross through the kitchen that still smells like bacon, and over to the large, looming doorway that leads down below. Bill pushes the door open and reaches to turn the light on, but they must have burnt out; the area still shrouded in darkness, even after flipping the switch up and down multiple times. Shrugging, Bill leans over and grasps the flashlight from one of the shelves built into the wall; hands it down to Georgie to keep the boy from whining about the dark. "Here you go; m-monsters hate t-the light, so y-you can keep us safe, okay?" Georgie nods and turns the light on, illuminating the dark staircase ahead of them.

They began their descent, and as the stairs beneath them quake and groan Billy allows Georgie to glue himself to his big brothers' side. They reached the level ground of the basement floor, and the oppressive feeling took Bill over for a split second; like someone had put ten pounds of pressure against his skull. He felt someones (_ or somethings, _ his mind supplied unhelpfully) eyes on him as he stood there. Ignoring the -obviously, unnecessary- paranoiac feeling of being watched, Bill starts looking through dust lathered shelves, moving old busts and antique dolls his mother had thrown down here to forget. "It's p-pr-probably on one of the sh-sh-shelves over there; come on, shine the flashlight." Georgie lifts a slightly shaky hand up and illuminates the area in front of them. Bill steps forward and starts grazing over the shelves, dust collecting on his fingers and he moves and shoves things around to find the box of wax. "Can you aim it a little l-l-lower?" Bill squats down, one hand on the floor to balance himself, the other pushing old dolls and boxes of expired batteries aside. 

"G-Gh-got it." Bill brings the box up, and the moment he turns around to the stairs Georgie tries to shoot up them, grabbing his older brother's hand in an attempt the bring him up with. "What'cha scared of, G-G-Georgie? There's n-nothing down h-he-here." He ignores the oppressive feeling he's had the entire time down here to prove his point, and he turns around to state to the nothing that was in their basement; "But if there is, y-yo-you'd best l-leave Georgie alone."

* * *

Bill let Georgie run up ahead of him once they set the boat down onto the side of the road, the current of water picking it up easily; sailing it away, down the street in a current of rainwater. Bill was only a few feet behind Georgie as they ran, following the dips and curves of the street until they reached a small area of construction, the work closed down for the rainy day. Bill made his way into the grass and side-walk area, as to avoid the large construction bars that had been placed around the site. Georgie did no such thing, and decided he would rather duck under the signs. It worked the first time, and he even managed to keep pace with the steadily speeding paper boat; unfortunately, it seems the second warning bar must have snuck up on him while his attention was on keeping up with the paper boat. His head rammed itself into the construction bar, and Bill was so caught up in helping Georgie to his feet and examining his head for a bump that neither noticed how far away the boat had gotten until it was already too late.

"Billy, the boat!" Georgie screamed as he broke away from his big brothers worrying arms, dashing for the boat as it neared a storm drain. "Georgie, wait! S-stop, it's n-not that important. We c-c-can just go and m-make another one." Billy still follows Georgie to the edge of the storm drain, kneeling down next to him as they both stared into the dark depths. Bill felt like something wasn't quite right; why were they doing construction on this one area? There hadn't been anything wrong with the street last time Bill had been around. While he pondered this, his eyes strayed into the darker parts of the storm drain, as if unconsciously searching for something. Without warning, an almost glowing pair of yellow eyes peaked up and out from the dark shadows of the sewer. They looked like they were staring right through Billy; like they could see straight into his mind and soul. Instinctively, Bill grasped Georgie's shoulders in his hands and moved him back a little, positioning himself in the front, keeping his little brother to his back as he stared at the two eyes before him. 

"Awwe, hiya Billy! Heya Georgie; what'cha boys playing?" The owner of the eyes steps forward, and Billy does another little shimmy backward; a white grease-painted face stared back up at him. A wide, obnoxious smile painted red and trailing upwards through the center of his eyes with large, poofy frills at the bottom of his neck tied the look together. His voice wavered in pitch, going from deeper and almost gravely up into a higher, whine like sound.

"Um," Georgie started, but Bill interrupted him; he's not letting the -_ probably pedophile _ \- clown's attention lock onto his little brother. "We're not s-suh-supposed to talk to strangers." The clown seems to frown up at him -not exactly an angry frown, per-se, but the type of frown one gets when confronted with something they've never dealt with before- before smiling toothily at him _ -what's it want with _ _ him? _ -. "Oh, but I'm Pennywise, The Dancing clown." He seems to contemplate something for a moment, before gesturing to himself, a white silk glove covering very large hands and long fingers. - _ He could kill you without breaking a _ _ sweat _-, that little noiseless voice in his mind offered, further igniting his paranoia and worry. But not fear; never fear. "Yes, Georgie-" Here he gestures to the small boy- " and Billy-" He locks eyes with the fourteen-year-old, smile widening- " Meet Pennywise. Pennywise, Meet Billy and Georgie. Now we aren't strangers, are we?" 

Georgie tries to sneak a look at the clown past Bill's arm, but Bill refuses to let him. "Yes, It's n-nice to meet you, P-Peh-Pennywise." -_ Always be nice to the people who seem like they'll kill you if you make them mad- _ "But our parents will be e-ex-expecting us soon, so we n-ne-need to go." Bill pushes up from his knees and grasps Georgie's hand in his own, keeping an eye on the clown - _ Pennywise, _that same noiseless voice in his mind offers- but the clown persists. 

"Oh, but if you stay a bit longer, I'll give you a balloon. A nice, big red balloon to help you float away from _ all _ your troubles." He smiles again, still staring right through Bill, and there's some primal instinct in Bill to accept the offer, for whatever reason. But he denies this want in him to say 'yes, please.' and instead gently nudges Georgie ahead of him, eyes still on the clown as the rain pours down. "No, th-thank you for the offer, but w-w-we need to leave. Maybe next time, t-th-though." 

Bill finally faced forward once he could no longer see into the storm drain, a hand on Georgie's shoulder as they make their way back up the street. He still feels eyes on him, even though he knows there's no way the man managed to climb out of the drain. Still, Bill turns his head around and tries to look through the heavy rainfall. Nothing.

"How'd you think he got in there, Billy?" Georgie asks after a few moments of silence. "M-m-maybe the storm blew h-h-him away." Bill offers, eyes scanning everything they could to find the source of his feeling. Still, nothing.

Bill felt eyes on him the entire way home, even after he stepped through the doorway and was met with the stare of his mother, sitting at her piano but not playing. Never playing it, anymore. 

* * *

The rest of the day had passed by uneventfully; Bill finished the rest of his English homework, helped Georgie with his own fractions homework, and made dinner while his mother and father were out. His mom was probably staying at a friend's house, working through her own divorce paperwork; meanwhile, he knew his father was at his Secretary's apartment, cheating on his mother again, after the how-ever-many-times he had in the past. The house was their's until probably late into the next day, maybe even longer. It seems they're left alone more and more often; forgotten, almost.

Bill put Georgie's favorite movie on while he makes them dinner; a simple BLT with fries and a small fruit bowl. Bill pulls out the onion and tomato, frying the last of the bacon as he puts some bread on to toast. He's halfway through cutting up a pear, about to start peeling the apple when Georgie's cry of his name brought him from the kitchen. "Billy! Billy, come look! It's the clown from earlier." 

Bill's heart freezes in his chest, his legs moving on autopilot, bringing him from the kitchen and into the living-room; standing behind the couch Georgie was curled up on, he watches in a sick sort of fascination as the tall man -_ he's almost unnaturally tall; soaring up into at-least seven feet- _ steps into the view of the camera. He smiles to the camera _ -to Bill- _ as the children behind him cheer and laugh, raising their hands to clap for the clown. "Hiya boys and girls!" His voice was high, pitched almost to a whistle, almost hurting Bill's eardrums as he spoke. Balloons fall from the ceiling, out of view of the camera. His suit was ancient, all silk folds and pom-poms trailing down his front, almost in a mockery of a snowman. His suit was dirty, encrusted with some sort of rusted - _ no, that's not rust. It's blood. _He smiled toward the camera. "Who's ready to have some fun, huh?" Again, the children in the stands behind him cheer. But, there's something wrong with the children.

Bill look's harder, and almost gags at what he notices. Some of the children in the seats were drenched in blood; their throats slit, missing limbs, and parts of their bodies. Upon looking towards one young boy -and Bill ignores how closely he resembles Georgie- he notices he was missing the lower part of his jaw, the visceral tendons and bones peeking out from the flesh, tissue, and fat of his face and neck. His tongue lolled out from his face and down into the missing parts of his neck, the swollen meat of the muscle touching the collar of his shirt. 

The clown laughs at the cheer he gets from his crowd and turns to the screen. Once more, Bill felt like Pennywise was looking right through his physical form and deep into what made him Bill; looking right into him, his mind and soul. Everything he's ever thought, right on display. On instinct, Bill reaches over and covers Georgie's ears with the palms of his hands, blocking out the disturbing laughter from his younger brother's ears. "How's about you, Billy Boy?" He asks, his voice suddenly smoothing out, down into a deep rumble. "If you come down here, you'll never be forgotten. We all have fun down here Billy. Come join me. We could have so much fun down here, yes we could!" Once more, he laughs- but it wasn't a laugh. It was a rumble, like an earthquake within his eardrums and deep into his being.

Bill jumps over the couch, almost tripping in the process to turn the screen off. The sudden change of deafening laughter to absolute silence startling. The green afterglow on the screen allowed Bill to see Georgie's reflection. Turning, Bill glances at Georgie; into wide, teary eyes. "Billy!" Georgie sobs, reaching his arms out to his big brother in his search for comfort. Bill pulls Georgie into his arms and shushes him, tucks Georgie's head under his chin. "Sh, sh, sh. I-I-It's okay Georgie. He-s n-not here, I s-sw-swear." Even though he knew this to be fact, he still glances around the living-room -pure instinct- before he picks Georgie up into his arms, despite the boy being much too old to be carried, and brings him into the kitchen with him. He sat Georgie on the counter next to the stove and finished dinner; plating the fruits, fries, and sandwiches before he places them on the table. 

Bringing one of his sleeves up to Georgie's face, he wipes a stress-flushed cheek of its tears, bringing a damp cloth to his nose. "Blow," Bill asks. One runny nose and soiled wash-cloth later, and Bill places Georgie in his seat, running a comforting hand through his mused strands. "I'm going to g-go throw this in th-the dirty clothes b-basket, and then after dinner w-w-we can have some ice-cream, 'kay?" Georgie nods his agreement, his attention strayed over to the food before him. Bill stands up from his kneeling position and moves over to the laundry room, leaving the door open so Georgie can still see him. He tosses the cloth into the constantly growing pile of dirty laundry. Bill sighed; he'd either have to do it all after dinner, or wake up early the next morning to get the house laundry done. 

Bill enters the kitchen again and sits across from Georgie, watching as he goes from the stressed, scared little boy to his normal self in a matter of minutes; for once, Bill feels thankful for his short attention span. Bill begins eating as-well, letting food melt his stress away; at least, for the time being. Bill managed to almost wipe the entire event from history pretty quickly, given how all it had been, was a simple spook from Georgie's perspective. Bill doubts he quite understands what implications this evening's events hold. Once dinner was over, Georgie was bouncing in his seat, waiting for Bill to pull out the large container of ice-cream and begin dishing bowls out.

Bill himself only got a small amount, not much in the mood for ice-cream. But he made Georgie a sizable bowl; he even topped it with some of the chocolate syrup his mother had hidden in the shelves of the fridge a while back. Cheering, George immediately gorged himself in the frozen sugary substance. Bill watches as Georgie makes an absolute mess of himself, shaking his head as he goes on to talk about how a friend had invited him over to play all day tomorrow and "Please Bill can I go?" Bill pretends to think about it, placing a hand on his chin for a moment before he speaks. "You'll only b-b-be able to do that i-if it st-stah-stops raining by tomorrow. But if it does, you can spend the whole d-day out with your f-fr-friend, yeah?" 

By the end of desert, Georgie had exhausted himself, almost slipping out of his chair when Bill told him to get up and wash up for bed. "Come on, G-Georgie. Let's get you to bed. You'll h-ha-have lot's to do tomorrow, so you c-can't be sleepy." Georgie nods, let Bill bully him upstairs to wash his face, brush his hair and teeth. Bill brushes his own teeth, even though he is surely hours before he can get to sleep for the night; he tucks Georgie into bed in place of his mother, kissing his forehead and handing him his stuffed turtle. Promising him that it was in-fact an ancient being sworn to protect Georgie. "What's his name, Billy?" Georgie asks. "Oh," Billy starts, "His name is-" _ Maturin. _Again, a thought without voice or image- "Maturin. And he's p-pro-promised to protect you and me." Georgie looks at Bill, one of those few moments where he seems beyond his years, as every kid does once in a while. 

"From things like the clown?" Georgie asks, the turtle tucked beneath his arms as he burrows into the covers, nightlight shining the constellations across the ceiling. "Yeah," Bill agrees, bringing the comforter up closer to Georgie's chin, "Yeah, from the things like the clown." 

* * *

It's been two hours since Bill had tucked Georgie into bed, and it's as if he's barely made a dent in the house's laundry. Bill had started jamming out to his Walkman half-an-hour into the washing; with a basket on his hips, he folds his fathers' laundry while the washer is going, and the clothes in the dryer finish it's last few rounds. Now, with "_ The Only Way Is Up _ " blaring into his ears, he finishes folding his fathers' laundry and goes to put them into their respective drawers. Bobbing his head to the beat, socked feet slide across the kitchen tiles and through the hardwood of the living room, climbing the stairs while he nods and mouths the words, passing Georgie's room silently. Soon enough he turns into his parent's room and flicks the light on, not looking up from his task of placing pants and shirts into drawers. He gets lost into the task, Queen's " _ Blurred Vision" _ echoing in his ears as he mechanically puts clothing away, ignoring how the photos of his mother's and father's wedding have been cracked, glass missing from their frames. Ignores the large hole in the wall where he knew his father's fist had gone through the drywall, probably missing his mother's face by a hair. He ignores these obvious signs of losing his - _ not _ \- family, finishing up without even realizing it; he makes to leave the room, but doesn't. Stay's frozen where his legs are glued to the floor, just a few steps from the doorway. That feeling of being watched hits him again, but should he indulge his childish wants to turn, and look around a room he _ knows _ to be empty?

He doesn't, in the end; all he does is grab his now-empty basket and continue through the hallway, down the stairs and passing the blank T.V, back into the laundry room. He had about another ten minutes until this cycle was done, until he could fold what would come out of the dryer; so he took that time to contemplate what had happened earlier that day. Who exactly is Pennywise? How'd he manage to get into the storm drain? How'd he know Billy would be watching that channel? These thoughts caused him to frown, pushing brown hair from his forehead as he paced from the laundry room and into the kitchen, biting the short nail of his left thumb. Was the guy just a creep? He didn't seem to point out Georgie on the screen, so maybe he didn't know? He could have had someone follow them home, figure out what channels were available to him...

As he mulled these thoughts over in his mind, he removes the headphones from his ears, let's them hang from around his neck loosely. Pulling his Walkman from his pocket, he pauses his music; how'd Pennywise know he'd be on that channel? Billy could have sworn he had put on "_ The Land Before Time _" while he made dinner, and he'd never seen that show before. What happened? Bill looks suspiciously towards the T.V and it's blank, empty screen. He felt tempted to turn it back on; but why? He knows he won't see it again. Know's it's impossible for it to still be on, since it's been -Bill looks over to the clock hanging on the wall to his right- almost two and a half hours since the incident. He can only hope Georgie will forget about it completely. Bill looks back to the T.V, makes his decision; no matter how dumb it may seem, he refuses to let it bother him anymore.

Bill seats himself before the T.V on the plush cushions of the ancient couch his mother refuses to get rid of, hands wanting to shake as he grabs the remote and flips the T.V on; static is the only thing that greets him. Bill frowns, tries to flip through to the other channels, but the T.V must have lost its signal. Every single one of them was pure static. Standing, Bill was just about to turn it off, berating himself for believing he would somehow find all his answers by looking for that show again. He was just about to reach over and switch it all off, go back to cleaning and forget he even tried to do this; a whisper from the T.V stopped him. "Billy," it said in a deep, soothing rumble. "Come here, Billy." It really was coming from the T.V. Heart in his throat, fists clenched, Bill walks forward, directly in front of the static covered screen. He kneels down on one of his knees and asks; "Who are you?"

Immediately, every light in the living room shut off; the lamps, ceiling lights, fanlight, even the glow from underneath the kitchen door flickered off. Embraced in a pitch-black, Bill stays frozen where he is. Reaching into his subconscious, he looks for any good response to what's happening. "Th-that doesn't answer my q-qu-question." He says, purely from instinct than anything else. He knows it's probably not the best response to what's happening; most people would believe sarcasm and jokes would make a situation like this worse; he's seen how that goes in most horror movies. But growing up with someone like Richie Tozier will do that to your baser instincts; instead of running away, he just runs his mouth off. But whatever was playing with him seemed to enjoy the bite back, since it turned T.V back on; only the T.V, though. The rest of the room stays bathed in dark. Looking up the stairs, Bill notices that he can still see the glow from Georgie's night light. Looking back to the T.V, Bill waits for something to happen but it wasn't plain static that greeted him; no, it was some sort of black and white show- maybe one of those old movies his grandmother left behind last Christmas? But, no that wasn't quite right; the movie-show- whatever the hell was playing doesn't look at all familiar. 

It began with a large sweep of the gates to something- a circus? Carnival? A large celebration, anyhow. It begins at the exterior gates, where a swirl mustached man was selling tickets, a jovial look on everyone's faces. The quality was low, as to be expected from a black and white film; the movements were slightly jerky, a little stilted. The camera scans the crowd, faces of smiling parents, until pans over and down to a young boy; with a large baseball cap on the crown of his head, he makes a mess of his face with cotton candy. He's adorable, really; chubby cheeks, thick head of curly hair, a full smile on display. A much older boy comes up to the younger one and offers a hand to hold as they begin to walk. The camera follows them from a birds-eye view, allowing a larger view of the whole area. Stands surrounded with families laughing and enjoying the festival, playing games and in the far distance, a Ferris wheel was visible; it's flashing lights attracting the eye softly. It was slowly rotating, calm and actually a pleasant view, all things considered.

The two boys make their way out to the center of the -circus, Bill concludes- all the way to this large, striped tent. "_ Pennywise, The Dancing Clown!" _ The sign placed before the tent read, " _ ¢10 per person! ¢5 for children. Step right up!" Bill's heart jumps as he reads the name, but some sort of outside force was tying him down, keeping him still as he's forced to watch the film progress. _The camera follows the boys inside, where they soon get lost inside the crowd of people spilling in the stands. The camera settles within the crowd, as if it itself is a participant; they all soon sit, still and silent, the tension building as everyone waits. They didn't have to wait for long, but Bill was unsure if he was glad for that fact, or dreading what was soon to come.

A large burst of smoke came from the center of the tent, and where there was previously no one, there now stood- _ Pennywise. _Bill's heart caught in his chest as he watched the clown unravel himself from a deep crouch -both hands on the ground, as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible- and up into the monstrous height Bill now knew was intentional. "Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls!" The clown screams, much to the delight of the crowd as they all cheer him on. The clown bowed, spun to another segment of the crowd, and bowed again. He does this two or three times before he gets to Bill's area. 

He stops short, halfway into his waist-deep bow, and the smile on his face grows impossibly larger as he points. The crowd instantly stills, silence overcoming everything. "And you," he says, taking three large steps towards the camera. Bill jerks back, finally able to move as his shoulder blades ram themselves into the table behind him, halting his shuffling and crawling backward. Pennywise reaches forward, frames the camera lens in his two abnormally large hands gently, and states, "Billy Boy, you should come join me. You'll never be lonely down here." He smiles, but it's not a smile; it's a reveal of razor-sharp teeth, slightly open-mouthed so hisdrool slowly trails its way down the teeth, a slight pink color painting the fluffy silk frills beneath his chin. 

Bill finally gathers his wits, manages to push through the instinct to let the show continue, forces himself to lean up and press the power button to the T.V, suddenly ridding the screen of the visceral images. Shaking, Bill stands back to his feet; as he rises, the lights around him flicker back to life, illuminating the wall in front of him. Bill gasps, brings a hand up to cover his mouth to keep himself silent, cutting off the scream trying to build up in his throat. On the wall, in large dripping letters, a message read. He knew it was for him, to him, a taunt. Pennywise wanted him to know he's not safe; that he can get in whenever he wants. In what Bill knew to be blood -both from the deep scarlet dripping down the wall, and the heavy smell of blood filling his nose- was the message; he didn't want to know what -or who- he had gotten his hands inside of to write the words out.

** _ DOES THIS ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, BILLY-BOY _ **

Bill gags at the smell consuming the living-room, and moves to the kitchen to breath for a moment. He refuses to be afraid of him; stubborn as all hell, Bill retaliates to this message by grabbing a bucket, filling it with soapy, hot water and a sponge. Moving the photos from the wall, and shoving the heavy shelving unit it had written above, Bill gets to work cleaning the mess up. Scrubbing the wall as hard as he could without removing the paint that lay beneath, Bill cleans the wall up little by little. Between getting the blood off the wall, avoiding the T.V, checking up on Georgie and doing the laundry, Bill managed to climb into bed at almost three in the morning after a short shower. With his hands still smelling like old blood and dish soap, he finally falls into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

He ignored the feeling of eyes on his form; and there the eyes stayed, watching him silently throughout the night.

* * *

The next morning came too quickly for Bill's tired mind; Georgie rushed to his room at around seven, jumping on top of him, jerking him from a dream he no longer remembers, but knows was something sad, angry as the lingering emotions from the dream stuck with him until long after the day was over and done with. Bill once more gave Georgie a piggy-back ride down the stairs and into the kitchen, the cold feeling of exhaustion stiffening his muscles and bones, burying itself into his entire being. The smell of soap lingered in the living-room from the night before, but thankfully Georgie didn't seem to notice the smell of cheap dish soap and the lingering scent of metal- _ like pennies _\- as he demanded pancakes for breakfast. "With c-ch-chocolate bits in the m-middle again?" Bill asks, pulling a large pan from the hanging rack, turning the heat on low as he pulled ingredients from the fridge out. Milk, eggs, and some of the dry stuff from the cupboards like baking soda, sugar, flour, and vanilla were soon dumped into a large metal bowl. Bill grasped a whisk in his hand and gently began stirring everything together. 

Georgie nods, still in his turtle pajamas, hair a mess and feet dangling off the chair Bill sat him down in. "It's stopped raining, Billy." Bill looks out through the window and nods his agreement. "Yeah, it l-look like it has." Bill waits, the silence overtaking the kitchen before he answers, "As long as you're bah-back before eight tonight, you can spend the ho-whole day with your friend." Georgie cheers, hands in the air as Bill moves over to place a small sliver of butter into the pan, swirling it around to coat the bottom of the metal. "But," he interjects, grabbing the ladle and pouring a sizable amount into the pan, "You need to p-pro-promise me that you'll stick with him and his m-muh-mother the whole time, yeah? I don't w-wa-want you to be alone, not even for a se-second." He thinks back to Pennywise, and how he managed to get into his home, how he somehow smothered Bill's wall in a bloody message. He's proven he can get anywhere at any time, no matter who was where. But it made Bill feel better, knowing Georgie would keep this promise.

"I promise, Billy." Bill look's back at him, and knows there's nothing behind his brother; he just sees a young boy about to have one of the best days of his life. But in his mind, he was offered an image; a large form lurking behind his brother, a wide, demented smile dripping blood, hungry gaze settling on Bill. Mentally shrugging the image from the front of his subconscious, Bill turns back to the stove and drops a handful of chocolate chips into the batter before flipping the disk. The phone mounted on the walls rang out once, twice, three times before Bill was able to remove the first pancake and answer the phone. 

"Hello?" He asks, bringing the handset over to the stove with him, the cord trailing half-way through the kitchen. "Hey, Bill." It was his mother, probably calling from a friend's house. "Listen, your father and I will be out of town for a few days, maybe even a week or two." That explained the missing luggage from the hall closet. "I'll need you to take care of Georgie until I get back, alright?" _ Until I get back. _ They're getting divorced; Bill knows already; he would have, given the wet and shaky quality of her voice. He's heard the late-night calls, whispers through the phone. How his dad's things were diminishing slowly. How tired and empty his mother looked. "Yeah," Bill says around the frog in his throat, pouring another circular pancake out, mechanically spilling another handful of chocolate chips in the center. "I can do that, mom." She seems to take a wet breath in, before mentioning "I've left fifty dollars on the dresser in the spare room. You can go and get yourself some food, maybe order a pizza as a treat. I'll see you soon baby. I love you." Bill takes the end of his sleeve and wipes his eye, refusing to let Georgie see him cry. "Love you too, mom." 

He places the handset back on the wall, flipping the pancake and closing his eyes; he takes a deep breath in; then back out. In again, held it for a few moments, then out. He finished the batch of pancakes, listening to the chattering behind him as he piled four up onto a plate, drenching them all in syrup before he placed it before Georgie's seat. His own plate only held two pancakes, with just a small drizzle of syrup; his stomach flipped at the simple thought of eating, but he knew he needed to. He was skinny enough as it is, he didn't need that to get any worse. He listened as Georgie rant about what he and his friend would do for the day- "He says he's got a new game, so we'll play that. And, and then we'll go to the park, and we'll play tag." Georgie went on and on, and it took Bill's interference of telling him he "Needs to shower and brush your teeth before you do anything with your friend" to remind him they needed to leave soon.

While Georgie was up and bathing, Bill was cleaning the kitchen up; took what little comfort he could find in the methodical movements, in the soapy water and heavy sponge. Tears still threatened to fall from the corner of his eyes every once in a while, but Bill refused them the right to fall. By the end of his cleaning freak-out, he felt as if he couldn't breath; like the tears he rejected were now laying in the back of his throat, heavy and swollen with un-relieved grief. He moved over and opened the front door, hoping it would allow for some fresh air in the suddenly stifling house. He looks down at his clothing and frowns; he's pretty sure he fell asleep in these jeans, and he's been wearing this same shirt for like three days.

leaving the main door open, but their screen door shut and locked, he runs up the stairs two steps at a time to change. He scans through his options; white shirt, with dark blue long sleeves -fitting for the cooler weather, he supposes- and dark wash jeans seemed most appropriate. He foregoes any underwear, throwing the old pair of clothes into his no-longer empty dirty clothes basket. He hears when the bathroom door opens, Georgie running out and into Bill's room. "You got y-your bag?" Bill asks, a bit rhetorically, as he can see the bag slung over a tiny shoulder. Georgie nods anyway, and Bill takes his hand and begins walking him out of his room, down the stairs and to the front door. "Billy," Georgie starts as Bill closes the doors behind them, locking them both with his house key, "When will mom and dad get back?" Bill's stomach lurches, but he smiles down at his little brother and, not wanting to ruin his day with his friend, responds; "Soon, G-G-Georgie. Don't w-worry about it." Bill grabbed Georgie's hand again, walking him down the mile it takes to get to his friend's house.

It was barely past nine in the morning on a Sunday, so people were either in church or still sleeping off their Saturday night activities -much like Bill wished to do once he got back home. The sun was up, shining down on them through the foliage of the trees next to the sidewalk. Georgie's friend's house was within sight, on the other end of the street; he walks Georgie up the steps and knocks on the door. Waiting for a moment, Bill ruffles Georgie's hair. "B-Be nice, okay? Make s-sh-sure to say please and th-thank you." Georgie pushes Bill's hand from his hair and whines out "Yeah, I know." The door opens and a woman steps onto the porch, tired lines on her brow and beneath her eyes. Still, she smiles and welcomes Georgie into her home. He greets her in a rush and speeds inside the threshold, the yells of two little boys soon filling the whole house.

"C-can I ask a favor uh-of you, ma'am?" Bill questions before the woman has a chance to turn around. "Of course, dear. What do you need?" Her eyes were kind, her smile soft around the edges. "If y-you take them out to the p-p-park, can you make sure th-they stick t-t-together? I don't want G-G-Georgie being alone, what w-with all the m-mih-missing kids." Bill asks and watches as an understanding look cross over her face. "I'll make sure neither of them leaves my sight, Bill." And with that, they say their goodbyes. Bill walks back home slowly, enjoying the scenery. Despite the horrible things that have been happening, the town of Derry was still a very green, beautiful place; if you knew how to look in the right spots. Bill spent the mile walk home in a peaceful state of mind, planning to go home and sleep for another few hours.

That plan was interrupted when he stepped through the doors to the phone ringing loudly. Sighing while rubbing his slightly dry eyes, Bill steps up to the phone. "Hello?" he answers.

"Bill! Hey dude, I was trying to call you for, like, _ forever _." Richie's voice crackles over the speaker loudly. Bill smiles a little, stress lowered slightly at the sound of one of his best friends' voices. "Your such a f-fucking drama-queen, R-Ri-Richie. It's been like h-hah-half an hour, at m-most." 

"Yeah well, semantics. Listen, we're all going down to the quarry in about twenty; you in, or do you need to watch your brother?"

"No, G-Ge-Georgie's at a friend's house until late. I'll be at yours in-" Bill looks out of the kitchen doorway and up at the clock- "Give me five, I'll meet at yours and we can ride off to the quarry?" Richie takes a few moments to respond, probably checking with his mom if he can leave a little earlier. "Yeah, that's cool with me. See you then?" Bill's already slipping his chucks on, grabbing a bag of walnuts and raisins; he needed to go shopping later; get a few things with that 50, and save the rest of the cash for later. "Yeah R-Rih-Richie, I'll see you then." He hangs up and makes his way out the door, locking both doors behind him once more before straddling his old bike. He begins to pedal, the joints creaking and groaning as he started her off. By the time he was on the corner of his street, he was sailing down the pavement; the wind musing his short strands, cooling the ever-present layer of stress-sweat on his brow. He stands on his pedals as he flies past old houses and even older people, hollering and whooping the whole way to Richie's house.


	2. Patience Is A Virtue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill's finally able to enjoy some time with his friends without worrying about his brother, or his mom and dad fighting. But now, he's got something else to fret over.

The ride down to Richie's house wasn't exactly a long one; it never is, when he's on his girl Silver. She could probably take him all over the U.S, as long as he warms her up first; she's always been there for him. She's old and rusted, and her handle bar keeps twisting around whenever he places too much weight on them; no matter what he's tried, she's never really in perfect shape. But she's still his girl, still his Silver; and that'll never change. Even years ahead of time, when his joints will probably creak and groan more than Silver's does; when he's wrinkled and aged along with his friends. Down along the road when his skin sag and his mind deteriorates, when he won't remember what his mother looks like, and Georgie no longer see's him as some indestructible force. He rids these thoughts from his mind, makes a sharp turn around the corner -nearly ramming his front tire into the bumper of an old, rusted car that's been parked in the same place since Bill was a kid- and can see Richie's house in the distance. 

His friend was already sitting on his bike in the driveway, munching on some -Bill has to look closer- Lays chips. He reverses his pedals, putting on the old-fashioned breaks until he slows down, next to his friend. "Yuh-you know those are b-bad for you, r-ri-right?" Richie rolls his eyes and makes a show of pouring more into his mouth, maintaining eye-contact as he drops the tin-foil bag to the ground, reaches into his own back-pack, and pulls another bag out. "You're such a f-fuh-fucking slob, trashmouth." Richie opens his mouth mid-chew, allowing Bill a view of wet, half-mushed potato chips. "Eugh," Bill cries in disgust, shoves Richie's shoulder and takes off, building his speed as Richie tucks the bag of chips in his pockets and calls out for him to "Wait up Big Bill, you're granny bike's too fast for me!" 

They both make their way to the quarry, swerving through alley's and past houses, the buildings thinning out until they were surrounded by woods, the roots from rotten, fallen tree's sticking out from the dirt beneath them. They joke and laugh along the way, Richie offering to imitate the inner thoughts of each tree or animal they pass. "Oui, look at those _fine_ young gentlemen right there," Richie exclaims, a thick, butchered french accent falling from his lips as they pass by a particularly large tree. "Oui, they truly are perfection. Muwa!" Richie continues, blowing a kiss into the air with his hand. Bill was laughing so hard he almost snorted a few times, having to curl around his handlebar, lest he fall over.

"J-Jesus Christ, t-trashmouth. I'm g-go-uh-gonna fucking die." He gasps as they roll up to the rocky area of the quarry, their two other friends talking amongst themselves. Stan, as usual, was in a finely pressed shirt tucked into his shorts. Socks as pristine as his shoes, his brown leather belt without wrinkle or tear. Eddie, while clean, was not as presentable; in a light pink button up shirt and his own pair of shorts, his fanny-pack was tied around his hips in place of a belt. "Aye, Eddie-spaghetti, Stan the man; how you guys doin' on this fine evening?" Richie yells, dropping his bike to jog up to the other two boys. Smiling, Bill released his as well and ran forward, ignoring how his knees ached with each step -exhaustion really fucks a persons body up. 

"Big Bill," Stan says, starts going in for a quick hug, "We haven't seen you outside of school for a week now. What's going on?" Eddie asks. Bill has a flash of hurt, and debates with himself on what he should do; should he keep it from his friends, and deal with everything himself? Or should he come clean with how stressful this all really is? He looks around at his friends, all dealing with their own baggage and family shit- and makes his desiccation. 

"Yeah, i-it's all good; juh-just some family drama." He smiles tightly; eyes still burning enough for him to not be capable of forgetting it, but not so bad it's debilitating. He knows this lie isn't going to work forever, that one day their going to ask why exactly he never let's them around his house, why he's never home anymore. But for now, they allow him his brief moment of naive joy. "Alright, Big Bill, enough of your sob story; it's time to cause some chaos. Who's with me?" Richie screams, throwing his hands in the air and tilting his head backwards. The other boys cheered, calling out into the sky as they all ran off to the sides of the Quarry, tree's and foliage covering their trek through the land. 

They spent hours like that, climbing trees and running through a creek. Throwing handfuls of ice-cold water at each other, handfuls of mud from the shore, and even pushing each other into the body of water. Hours passes in a blur; by the time Bill noticed how late it had gotten, the sun was near setting and his cheeks were rosy with a slight sunburn and exertion had his breath taken from him. He felt Richie wrap his arms around his shoulders, attempting to wrestle the lanky leader of the losers into the chilly water. His gangly limbs tightened and Richie threw his weight forward, throwing them both into the water. 

Bill looked at Richie through slightly foggy water, watching as he kicks back up to the surface. Bill begins to follow, his arms flailing to swim back up- _"William." _A voice with no voice whispered, the same one from earlier that week- from Pennywise. Without sound but not without purpose; he pauses mid-stroke, twitches his head around, looking for a source that doesn't exist. He spends a moment like that; his eyes open, gazing into murky water trying to ignore the slowly growing feeling of being pulled in two different directions at once. 

* * *

He continues swimming back up only when his lungs begin to burn, waiting for breath that Bill is denying them in his wish for peace. His head bobs on the surface, gasping air into his lungs as he hears his friends scramble to help him up. "Dude, what the fuck Bill." Richie said as he grabs at Bill's under arms, hefting him up from the water like a nearly-drowned kitten. "Try not to give the rest of us a heart-attack next time you want to chill. Damnit Bill, you can't just fucking _do _that to us." Richie was chewing him out as Stan and Eddie looked him up and down, searching for signs of -_something._

"Su-Sorry, guys. My fuh-fu-foot must've caught on s-suh-something." Bill rakes his hands through his hair, simultaneously brushing and shaking the strands of the water as he stumbles his way over the sandy area and to his clothes, piled up onto one of the boulders there. The losers take a moment to look at each-other behind his back -_how does he know this?_\- before Richie starts speaking. "Hey, Big Bill, Eddie and I are planning to hide away at Stanley's house for the night. You in?" Bill winces as he pulls his Chucks back on, his feet soft and tender after having spent hours in cool water. "Nuh-No, Sorry I can't. Ge-Georgie's guh-gonna need to b-be walked home soon. I-I'll catch yuh-you guys tu-tomorrow, though." 

Bill tried not to look back at them as he straddled his bike, feeling their worried gazes on his back as he pedals off into the foliage of the woods. His eyes were dryer than ever, and if he had to hear them worry about him one more time he'd cry, and that'd burn like a bitch. He feels his knees creak as he pushes forward, the edges of town within sight as he flies past everyone and everything. He passes houses, shops and finally makes it to the center of town. 

With it being as late as it was, and with all the people going missing these past two months, Bill enjoyed having the road and sidewalk to himself; it was freeing, if ever so slightly unnerving. He felt like he could scream at the top of his lungs and no one would even peel open their blinds to check on him. Bill ignores the feeling and speeds back to where he dropped Georgie off. The cool wind in his face was a small reprieve from everything that's happened these past few months; as he approaches the corner of the street, where Georgie's friend lived, he slows down. By the time he's near the drive-way, he's dismounted his bike and leans it on the white picket fence before opening the gate. 

He knocks on the door and straightens out his hair, waiting for the door to open. "Ah, Bill. Wonderful to see you've made it, and right on time too." The woman looked tired, and honestly? Bill could relate. He smiles and asks, politely, "H-He wasn't an-any trouble, wah-was he?" She laughs, placing a light hand on his shoulder as she answers; "No, not at all; he was an absolute sweet-heart, really. They had a lot of fun together." Behind her, Bill hears Georgie running around, gathering his toys and whatever else he packed in his bag before sprinting from the living room, past Miss Dobeck and into Bill's legs. "Billy! Billy, we had so much fun! We played with turtles, and then we had power-rangers toys, and then-" As Georgie began to ramble about his day, instinctively clinging to Bills hands as they turned around, Bill managed a wave towards Miss Dobeck.

Something inside the house -a swift movement- caught his eye. Bill's first thought was that it was Georgie's friend, but he ruled that out quickly when he notices that the boy was sticking himself to his mothers dress as he waved bye to Georgie. Bill's next automatic thought was that it was her husband. But there's no car in the drive-way, and the garage is completely empty. Shrugging, Bill minds his own business and get's back to listening to Georgie.

With one hand, he held his little brother close to his side as they walked back home, and with the other he clutched tightly to Silver's handle-bar base. It took them roughly twenty minutes to walk back home, and the whole walk there was filled with Georgie's excited rambles of his adventures of the day. Bill nods when prompted, gasps when needed, and adds a dramatic 'really?' when required. By the time they get to the front door, Bill's propped his bike on the side of the house and was reaching into his back pocket for his keys. Without warning him, Georgie just tries to push on through the door. "Ge-Georgie wait, it's lo-loh-lo-" Bill pauses in his stuttering when Georgie opens the door, speeding into the living room while still talking about what else he and his friend did today.

Bill grasps the set of keys in his hand and wonders; did he forget to lock it? No, no he didn't, he distinctly remembers locking it as he left. Bill looks at the frame of the door, but nothing's been split or damaged, so no one kicked the door down. Maybe he didn't actually lock it? His mother does that whenever she's in a rush to do something; she doesn't manage to turn the lock the whole way, and Bill seems to be taking after that rushed habit. Rubbing his sore neck, Bill forgets the incident and walks inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him; he even tries to open it, just to be sure.

He ignores how his arms prickle with goose-bumps as he enters the living room, where Georgie has halted his rambling in favor of watching the episode of this mornings showing for Mr Rogers. "Wha-What do you want for dih-dinner, Georgie?" The boy merely shrugs is shoulders, eyes glued to the screen. Bill sits there for a moment until Georgie admits, "Miss Dobeck made dinner; meatloaf." Bill laughs, seats himself on the couch, removing his shoes so he can take up the entire cushions since Georgie's sitting on the floor. "Reh-Really? Was it good?" Georgie vigorously nods, eyes still trained on the screen. 

Bill's warm, nice and warm, comforted by the silhouette of his brother from the screens bright illumination. He's soft and comfy, and his eyelids start drooping not ten minutes into watching T.V. Thankfully, he hears Georgie yawn first; shakes the sleepiness from his mind, at least for a moment, and stands. He stretches for a moment before stating; "Alright Geh-Ge-Georgie, go brush your teeth. It's beh-bed time." Without even arguing, Georgie slowly trudges up the stairs; once Bill actually gets him to sit still, he always ends up tuckering out almost instantly. Bill hears the faucet running from his room as he changes out of the clothes from this morning, into a shirt with a collar so wide it lays on the balls of his shoulders and blue flannel sleep pants. 

He tucks Georgie into bed with a small story. A story about how a god was born from an explosion, and whenever he felt lonely he'd create a universe to keep him company. 'How old is he?" Georgie asked when Bill finished, bringing the sheets up to his chin. "No one n-knows, really. Not even h-he-him; buh-but he's old enough to n-nu-know he doesn't know a luh-lot." Georgie looks at him, his nose scrunched up in confusion as he asks, "What's that supposed to mean?" Bill shrugs and stands; says "If you reh-remember to ask me tomorrow, I'll teh-te-tell you."

* * *

Bill leaves Georgie's door cracked, and makes his way back down stairs, where the T.V was still playing. Bill was still hesitant about watching anything on it, after yesterday. Both incident made his hair stand up on end. But Bill was nothing if not stubborn, so he grabs a blanket, curls up on the recliner next to the couch, and puts on "_Friday the 13th part 6" _Bill leans his head against his knee, watching blood splatter across the screen and paid half-attention to the low screams spilling from the speakers. His eyes droop not half way through the movie, and Bill wonders if he should turn it off, just in case Georgie wakes up and ambles his way down the stairs.

But the decision is made for him when he ends up dozing off right there; feeling warm and soft, cocooned in his grandmothers hand made quilt. While he sleeps, he doesn't notice the T.V shutting off. He doesn't notice how something lurks behind him for hours. Doesn't notice the voracious, _hungry _eyes plastered onto his relaxed, sleeping form. He turns, pressing half his face into the back of the chair, nose buried in the creases as he huffs out a weak breath, settling back down into a deep sleep. His cheeks are flushed, his lips open as he breaths in deeply, his hair having fallen in his face.

The malevolence, the Evil, the Destroyer of Worlds, _IT _watches on passively, patiently as the boy slumbers. He is small, as all of the cattle are. Small, soft, fresh. IT watches as the boy breathes in, lets the air out, and repeats the cycle to keep his tiny heart pumping all the warm blood through his veins, through his limbs and all the squishy parts hidden under bone and flesh. IT watches as images and noises flash over the boys mind; a voice without sound. IT reaches a hand out and, with a touch IT is unfamiliar with using, gently presses one pointed finger to his temple. So easy it would be, to push his extremeties through the boys skull, to dig around inside, turn his brain matter to nothing but mush.

But IT doesn't; instead, it stands there and feels the warmth from flesh leach out, into IT's own chilled skin. Watches as the human boy leans into the touch, desperate for any kind of affection; unaware that he's in the presence of something older than his naive concept of time. Presses the palm of IT's hand to his cheek, now, and watches as the boy, innocent and warm and so very, very _tasty, _presses the entirety of his face into the cool touch. The boy, so ignorant of what is touching him, pokes the tip of his tongue out to wet his dry lips, the moist, red muscle brushing every so briefly against it's palm. 

IT feels IT's lips pull back instinctively, teeth exposed and drool pooling in the corner of IT's lips. The drool drips down and IT watches in slight fascination as the liquid drips onto Billy-Boy's cheek. IT watches his nose scrunch at the cool liquid, sleep still undisturbed as his face relaxes once more. Another drop of drool dripped down into Billy's face, this time near his chin. A twitch of the eyebrows, a slight break in his sleep pattern. IT presses IT's hand into the boys cheeks harder, the feel of warm blood under paper thin skin a rush. IT's never touched a human this softly for this long, and IT doesn't know if IT should continue, or gobble the boy up while he's vulnerable and soft.

Another drop landed on the boy's face, this time in the corner of his lips; a poke of his tongue came out to instinctively swipe the liquid up, into the boys mouth. IT shudders; IT's normally the one to consume the cattle, but _this._ Never had prey done something like this before, asleep or waking. IT leans down, down, down; leaning over so closely IT can see each pore on the boys face, each hair in his eyelash and every freckle speckled across his cheeks. IT listens to the boy's breath, listens to a slow, steady heart beat once, twice, three times. IT relents some of the pressure IT's palm was pressing into Billy-Boy's cheek, so that his head was just resting in IT's palm softly. 

IT presses IT's nose into his hair-line, breathes in the scent of warm little boy, water from the quarry, sweat and flesh. IT feels IT's eyes roll back into IT's skull, IT's maw opening up further as IT salivates at the smell. But something's off, and IT still has no clue as to what. Vexing, really; to be as old as time itself and still not know something. Looking back down to the boy, IT reaches into the recesses of his mind. Brushes up against his consciousness and see's brief flashes of other children, the ones IT can still smell on the boy. Watches as they laugh and play together, cry together, and learn to find love within each-other, since so few of them can seem to find it within their own homes.

IT's nose wrinkles at the displays of affection IT passes by. IT tries to reach further, deeper into Billy's mind, find whatever is so absolutely _intoxicating _about the boy. But finds IT cannot go past something. IT pushes and pushes, but the wall will not budge. IT's frustrated, having never been denied something IT wants; but there is underlying curiosity within that irritation. What is it that makes this one so special? 

_"He is my knife's edge." _

IT jerks IT's head up, looks towards the ceiling in hopes of catching the owner of that oh so very _infuriating _voice. "You old fool." IT growls out, moving up from IT's position of leaning over the boy to curse the bastard out. "You've entrusted your revolution to the hands of a _child?_ What's to stop me from consuming him now? From tearing his tiny little heart out and eating it before you? From pulling his flesh from his bones with my bare hands?" 

The turtle laughs, a deep rumble with no malice, but full of mockery. _"You cannot harm or break him, he refuses to bend. He is my knifes edge, my spears point, the heart of my warriors clan. He can be the end of your reign of terror, dear sister." _

"You believe I cannot harm him?"

_"I'd love to see you try. You will either ensnare him within your web, or he will see you crumble at his feet; the end of this story is within his hands." _

IT growls at the voice, but IT knows the turtle -that old, withering fool- is no longer there; IT leaves the home in an instant, plan already thought out. IT will ensure that Billy-Boy see's his friends strung up by their intestines before IT eats him alive, slowly, so very slowly; piece by piece, bite by bite. Starting at his arms and legs, up the fragile skin and leaving nothing but bone until he gets to the soft, squishy part of his internal organs; on and on, until there is nothing left of him to mourn. 

* * *

Bill wakes slowly, head cushioned on the arch of the chair and back stiff after hours of being curled up on the recliner for almost-Bill looks to the clock ahead of him- eight hours straight. His eyes were dry, his mouth felt fuzzy and there was a layer of oil over his nose and cheeks. He groans, stretches and feels every disk in his back pop at the movement, muscles in his lower back twinging as he moved. He stands up slowly, throws the blanket back over the couch and walks to the bathroom. 

The morning started as followed; he took a piss, washed his hands and ran a few handfuls of hot water of his face, dried both and wobbled downstairs where he started a pot of coffee. While the pot was developing, he picks up around the kitchen -putting up dried dishes, cleaning the few in the sink from earlier the previous day, and placed a pan on top of the stove. He stands at the sink for a moment, gazing deep into the drain as if it can answer all of his questions.

He turns before he can get lost in thought, and looks up the stairs; plans wake his little brother up in the most annoying way possible. Before any of those thoughts and schemes can be put into play, though, he hears keys jingle at the front door. Following that, the door itself opens and there enters mom. Drained, pale, ruffled and exhausted, she accepts the hug from her eldest son in relief. They say nothing for a moment, Bill just allowing his mother to cry into his hair as he strokes her back. "I'm suh-sorry, mom." 

She snuffles, pulls back and looks down at him with a soft, if sort of drained, smile. "You have nothing to be sorry about, dear. It's been a very long week for all of us, won't you agree?" He nods, heart in his throat as he tries to ask a hundred different things at once; did she win the divorce? Are he and Georgie going to have to visit their father? Will he have to _live _with his father? 

Before any of these questions could be asked, they both hear as a door up stairs opens slowly, creakily. Georgie stumbles down the stairs, eyes closed as he tries to rub the sleep from them with tiny fists. He opens his eyes and immediately, any previous thoughts of sleep vanish. "Mom!" Georgie shouts, runs down the last few steps to tackle his mother in a hug. She accepts gladly, picking Georgie up into her arms -even thought he is much too old to be carried anymore- and kisses his cheeks vigorously. 

Georgie laughs and giggles, arms thrown around his mothers neck as he accepts the affection. Bill leaves the living room doorway for a short while, pulling down another mug of coffee and filling it with three cubes of sugar and a little dash of milk. Stirring quickly, he picks up his own cup of black coffee and walks back into the living-room, where Georgie has sat their mother down on the hard-wood floor, criss-cross as he regales her with all that had happened the past three or four days.

"And then, and then we played storm-trooper and jedi. Did you know storm troopers cant hit anything? They're not allowed to, or they'd hurt someone and you can't have a hero that keeps getting really hurt. And then-" Bill nudges his mothers shoulder with his knee and hands down the coffee, returning her grateful smile with one of his own. He debates weather he should join his mother and brother on the floor, or leave them be. He knows Georgie's one of the best people to help others take their minds off things, whether he knows it or not. He waits until Georgie's stood up and trying to recreate a scene when he leans over and tells his mother he'll be leaving to meet up with friends.

At her disappointing look, he points out that there'll be a late re-run of the golden girls. "W-we can stay uh-up and wh-wah-watch it together, okay m-mu-mom?" He leans down and hugs her, tight as he could at the angle he's at before getting up and rinsing his cup out in the sink, changing out of his sleep clothes to jeans and a plain grey T-shirt before he calls Richie, Eddie and Stanley up.

"H-Hey guys, my muh-mom's back in town, th-think we cu-cuh-could meet at t-th-the Quarry in fih-fu-fifteen?" Richie replies with a 'hell yeah', Stanley with a 'sure, I'll be there.' And Eddie with a 'I'll ask my mom' and then almost two minutes of mumbled arguing and an almost-shouting war before Eddie relents with a 'yeah, I'll make it.'

Bill pulls his shoes on, kisses his mother goodbye, ruins Georgie's hair and dashes out of the house; riding Silver all the way across town, down into the mostly untraveled areas of Derry. He rode past houses and cars, shops dwindling down until all that surrounded him was trees and plants. By the time he got the the edge of the Quarry, near the giant cliff where they normally dared each other to jump off, the other three were already there, waiting.

"Big Bill, how're are ya? Ready to fuck a bunch of lame as motherfucker's days up?" Richie slings his arm around Bill's shoulder, Eddie starts to gripe to Richie and Stans just watches everything develop. _Yeah, _Bill thinks, _No other motherfuckers I'd rather be around._


	3. Another Piece To The Puzzle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The losers meet Ben and Bev, The Bowers Gang is thrown into the mix, and Bill's lost his shoes.

Bill had been playing around and joking with the other Losers for a good two or three hours before it had happened. They were all drenched with water, their shoes left on the shore to dry as they reclined on the large boulders a bit further up, closer to the tree line, so the sun and heat could help them dry off quicker. They were all joking around with each other, pulling out dick jokes as often as they could, when they heard the screaming. Straight up the hill, close enough that the persons' screams were easily within earshot. Looking to each other for a moment, Bill starts moving out first; drags his bare feet across mossy stones as he gets closer to the trees. "Bill, what'cha seein' there?" Richie asks, coming up behind him while pulling his shoes back on quickly. Bill didn't move to do the same, refusing the let any more time pass, just in case whoever was screaming was really in trouble.

Bill refuses to let anyone get hurt, if he could stop it. With how many people have been going missing these past few weeks, and with how little people around town care anymore, Bill will just have to pick up their slack. He knew police officer's weren't really looking for anyone; they started to, when this whole spree began. But soon after, they decided a bunch of kids and a few adults weren't worth the use of resources they don't even have access to. They've dropped their guard, have filled the rest of the townspeople into doing the same; they've added a curfew, and more often patrols.

Bill tries to listen harder, to pick up any distinctive voices, any names being shouted. But he heard nothing. He strains his eyes, squinting up at the area he had just heard the screams come from; but there was no movement, no other colors besides the muddled brown of tree's and the blue of the sky. There were a few things a bit further up he knew were close enough to be the source; there's a house, an out-house people don't even approach any more, and the bridge people would carve their names into. Still, he see's nothing.

"I-I don't n-know; it muh-must be too f-far up to s-see." He answers Richie's question a few seconds too late, his head having swiveled from looking forwards to looking back at his friend. Then Bill moves up closer, feet cushioned slightly from the sharp twigs and sticks by layers of wet leaves and patches of grass as he makes his way up the hill, moving as quickly as he can. Not too far away, the kissing bridge slowly made its way into his line of sight; Bill was close enough now, he could make out the few voices spitting out mocking jokes. "Sh-shit, you guys that's heh-he-hen-" Eddie comes up next to him and grabs his arm, hiding half behind him as he finishes Bill's sentence. "It's fucking Henry Bowers and his gang of assholes." Richie and Stan weren't too far behind him now, he knew. "Shit," Richie was next to him now, squinting towards the bridge, pushing his glasses further up his nose impulsively. 

"I think that's the new kid they're fucking with." Bill could see it, now; the silhouette of the larger kid, surrounded by the giant fuck heels many other kids their age knew as their bullies. "H-Hey! Bo-B-Bowers!" Bill yells out, and feels Eddie tense next to him as Richie whispers "What the fuck, Big Bill?" The new kid doesn't waste any time, taking advantage of Henry's distraction; once Henry is looking down at them over the new kids shoulder, he plants his feet in the center of Henry's chest and kicks hard; pushing Henry off of him while simultaneously tumbling over the railing and heading straight for the losers.

Bill moves back slightly, giving the new kid enough time to roll to a stop as Henry sputters curses their way, pushing himself back up quickly. He immediately notices the bloody stain slowly growing on the kids stomach, bruises already forming on the kids cheek and eye. "Fuck, he really did a number on you; didn't he New Kid?" Richie asks as the boy looks up at them, dazed and most likely concussed. Bill nudges Richie with his elbow roughly for the comment. 

"Cuh-Come on, w-we gotta g-g-go." Bill grabs the new kids arm and tries to heft him up on his feet, Stan and Richie coming up on his other side to help. The blood slowly cakes itself on the shirt of the new kid, and as Bill helps him hobble back to the lower area of the Quarry, he hears Henry and his goons scream bloody murder towards them, "I'll cut all your fucking guts out, I swear to god!" as he hops over the railing himself. Bill hears his heavy footsteps approaching them too quickly for his liking; he knew what Henry was capable of doing. He's cornered Bill in the empty halls, bathroom, locker room; on and on, he's sought Bill out simply to torment and annoy him. He singles Bill out, not only for being the leader of the Loser's club, but because he refuses to bow down to that mullet-wielding shit heel. 

Bill had thought, for just a little while, that maybe the reason Henry did this was that his father treated him like garbage. Bill's seen the marks on his cheek and shoulders, noticing things when most people remain unaware. He would let Bowers have certain strikes, like a well-phrased joke at his expense. But that soon deteriorated into Henry cornering him, threatening him with horrible things, promising he'd find out where Bill lives and carve his name into his back, swearing he'd cut out Bill's tongue for every quip and come-back the young had thrown Henry's way. His little jabs grew into a full-on obsession to force Bill to do as he wants; and Bill is a bit worried what Henry might do, if he finally snaps one day. 

"Shit, shit, shit." They help Bill lean him up against the back of Silver as Bill himself straddles the seat, still bare feet pressing against the pedals as he begins to build up speed. He hears the losers behind him, grappling for their own bikes. "You fucking faggot flamers I swear, next time I see you you're fucking dead!" Henry screamed at them as they left, biking as fast as they could to town. Bill felt the kid behind him sigh a deep breath of relief as they neared Keene's. "Yuh-You'll be fine, neh-new kid. We'll geh-get you right as rah-ra-rain." Once they reach Washington Street, they all collectively slowed down. The Losers all took a sharp left into the alley between Keene's and one of the only bar's in town. Bill and Stan manage to get the new kid off Bill's bike, helps him sit down on an old crate up against the wall. 

"We-we need to patch him up. Stan, Edd's, cuh-come on; we'll gu-go buy some things in keh-Keene's. Rih-Richie, yuh-you stay here." Bill herds Stand and Eddie to the entrance to Keene's, pushing them through the doors gently. Eddie immediately went to the middle-right isle, picking up a large bottle of rubbing alcohol, giant medical pads, tape and a few smaller bottles of medicine things Bill had personally never seen before. Bill and Stan let Eddie plunder for a moment until Eddie's arms were full of health-related products. "Can we afford all of that?" Stan questions, slowing Eddie down. Bill pulls out the remaining cash from his pocket; a whole whopping six dollars. 

Eddie looks to the things in his arms, the price tags on the shelves and frowns; they stand there for a moment, lost. In the corner of his eye, Bill see's someone step up to the mouth of the isle to their right, and makes a move to step out of their way until he notices who it was. Fiery red hair, freckles spotted over rosy cheeks and bright green-blue eyes stare back at him. Bill stands there for a moment, struck dumb by the sudden appearance of a girl; Bill's never been real smooth when confronted with girls. 

"What's wrong with you?" Beverly asks, her hand behind her back; Stan places a hand on Bill's shoulder to keep him from blabbering, while Eddie asks "Well what's wrong with you?" 

"I asked you first." Beverly counters. "None of your business." Stan says, right before Eddie admits that "There's a kid out there that looks like someone killed him." Stan and Bill loot down at him for a moment before Bill adds, "We're tr-trying to fih-fix him up but," he tries to be a bit quieter for this, "We don-don't have the money." Beverly looks at the supplies in Eddie's hands, then looks over to Mr. Keene, who was watching them with a sharp eye from over his little counter. 

"I've got this." Beverly says confidently, walking up to the counter.

* * *

Beverly, after having knocked the large display of whatever-the-fucks over the counter, made an obvious gesture with her chin for them to move; Bill pushed Eddie out the doors as quietly as he could while Stan just bulldozed his way through the doors as fast as he could. He could feet the hot concrete easily, the bottom of his bare feet burning ever so slightly as he made his way back to the lip of the alley. "We, we can't just fucking take this shit! No one paid for it. He'll notice as soon as he takes inventory and, and- what if we get caught? Holy shit Bill what if we get caught? Oh man my mom would _ never _let me leave my room again."

Eddie was rambling at this point, so Bill nudged him with his elbow and gestured to the new kid. "Fih-Fix him up beh-before you start panicking, yeh-yeah?" Eddie methodologically placed all the supplies they got before the new kid, lifting the hem of his shirt up to look at what they were dealing with. He stopped for a second, reeling back as if he was struck at by something the others couldn't see. "...Holy shit. Was he carving something in you?"

Bill steps up behind Eddie and looks; there, in jagged lines, a simple ** H **stared back up at them. "He said he'd carve his whole name into me, like what people did at the bridge." The new kid mumbled, flinching when Eddie took a wad of cloth he just drenched in rubbing alcohol and starting dabbing it gently around the wound. As soon as Eddie started working, Richie started talking. Bill automatically tuned them all out, stepping out to the main part of the side-walk, bare feet maneuvering over broken glass and gunk.

Beverly was just exiting the store, and Bill felt a flash of regret at having to ask her for help. As she approaches, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the six dollars, offering it to her in thanks. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and states, "Even Steven." She looks down at his bare feet, raising a red eyebrow at him, smiling; he avoids her stare in shame for a second before returning his gaze to the other losers. Eddie and Richie were full-on arguing now, Eddie still working on Ben's stomach and Stan standing off to the side, just letting them scream at each other like a pair of five year-olds. 

"Suck the wound, get in there!" Richie exclaimed as he pushed Eddie's face closer to the new kids stomach, and Beverly looks closer and mutters "Ben from Sosc.?" And makes quick work of making her way towards the injured kid. Bill follows close behind, and catches her asking him if he's okay, 'cause "That looks like it hurts." 

Ben blushes slightly and looks down, says "It doesn't hurt all that much." Eddie applies some sort of thick substance to the wound, pressing a gauze into the injury. He holds it down as he tapes the edges down and Ben flinches a little. "Are you sure they got the right stuff to fix you up?" Beverly says, winking towards Ben who, face already slightly flushed, flushes even more; his ears a bright pink, he admits that they're actually doing a pretty good job of getting him cleaned up. 

"Henry Bowers decided to try and carve his title into our boy, here." Richie places a hand on the new kids shoulder, giving him a light shake as he spoke. "But he got away using his sweet, kick-ass ninja skills. Kicked Bowers right off of him, didn't you?" Richie's voice grew as he retold the story, and Ben tucked his chin into his neck and tried to make himself as small as possible. "Wow, you really did that?" Beverly interrupted Richie's rambling, kneeling down next to Eddie as he finished up the patch on the kids stomach. "Ben, that sound so cool! No one's hardly ever even tried to fight back to that douche," she places a hand on his knee for balance, putting her shopping bag down to look at his bruised cheek and bloodied nose. "Let alone kick him hard enough to knock him on the ground." So Ben's his name; Bill pushes that info to the back of his thought process, for now.

"Stan, go get my bifocals," Eddie asks, joining Beverly in examining Ben's nose. "Where are they?"

"In my second fanny-pack, front pocket in the basket of my bike." Beverly casts a funny look Eddies way; he looks back and copies her face in mockery before asking, "What's so funny?" She laughs, asks; "You have two fanny-packs?" Eddie whirls his head her way so fast she jerks back and chuckles, while Eddie begins a tangent. "You never know what could happen! What if someone had broken a bone? Or, or been bitten by a rabid animal? Scrapped their knee or got cut by a aids-infected shard of glass?! These things have to be considered before one leaves the house, goddammit!" Beverly was cackling by the time Eddie paused to take a deep breath, prepared to continue before Stan shoved his glasses in his face.

"here you go, you paranoid bastard." Eddie just huffs and yanks the glasses from Stan's hands, unfolding them and placing them on his nose quickly. "I don't think it's broken," Beverly notes as she and Eddie poke and prod at the flesh around Ben's nose, "No, it's not, " Eddie agrees, "But it sure will swell; might be hard to breathe for the next few days." Eddie pulls out a piece of Medical tape, plastering it across Ben's nose and near his cheek to help keep the airway open. Eddie stands up, nods and let's Beverly help Ben up to his unsteady feet.

"Thanks, you guys. I, I don't even know half of you, but you still helped." Bill claps a hand on Ben's back and points to Richie. "That's Trah-Trashmouth Tozier, Ah-also known as Richie. He-He's an annoying fucker, buh-but he'll get you l-laughing like no one else." Richie brings a hand to his middle and bows deeply, from the waist. "A wonderful young gentleman, I have met this day!" He exclaimed. Eddie shoved him away when he lent back up and tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"And this is Eddie Spaghetti," Richie introduces as Eddie splutters and curses Richie out. "I told you not to call me that, fuck face!" Richie laughed and says "But you mom loves it when I give her pet names! Just last night she cam from me leaning in and moaning '_ oh, misses Hutt, you've really got me- _' Eddie throws his shoulder into Richie's stomach, hard. Ben barks out a laugh while Beverly snorts, watching the two boys break out in a mini-wrestling match.

Stan rolled his eyes and stepped forward, offering up his own introduction. "I'm Stanley. I think we have Math together; you helped Mark with his home-work before class started a few weeks ago." Mark, Bill remembers, is one of the few retarded kids in their school; Bill himself had helped him with his English on many occasions. He's a nice kid, and since his mom and dad are pretty high up on the social ladder in regards to popularity in town, there aren't many kids willing to actually fuck with him. 

Ben looks at Bill lasts, and he smiles awkwardly. "I'm Buh-Bill." Ben nods and says "You were to one who screamed at Henry, weren't you?" Bill nodded and shrugged, saying 'There's not muh-much he can do to muh-me that's worse than an-a-anything else, reh-really." Ben waits until Eddie and Richie have work themselves out before continuing his thanks. "An old couple saw them drag the knife out," Ben starts. "I was screaming, and they. They just kept driving by. Like I didn't matter, at all." Beverly places a hand on his shoulder and adds, "A lot of people do that here; they see things that shouldn't be happening, horrible things. A robbery, a murder, a parent beating their child. They just- they don't care." The other Losers have fallen silent.

Bill claps a hand on both Beverly's and Ben's shoulder, brings them in close as Eddie, Stan and Richie move in to hear what he's about to say. He nods, mentions, "A luh-lot of people in th-this town don't give tuh-t-two fucks what ha-hah-happens to kids, anymore. A buh-bunch of kids have been going muh-m-missing, so us luh-Losers, we should stih-stick together." 

* * *

And that was that. That day ended on a high note; all of the losers -including their two newest members- snuck into Stanley's house, begged his parents to order them all pizza, and spent most of the night talking, laughing and joking around. Spent the rest of their night growing closer, becoming more of a group. In a single day, a small family of teens had been started. With four different pizza boxes emptied and stacked carefully into a tower, they all piled up either on the floor or across Stanley's crisp sheets. "No no, I'm telling you that's not how it works!" Eddie claps the back of his right hand into the palm of his left, face a mere few inches from Beverly's.

"Oh yeah, Einstein?" She challenges, an unlit cigarette dangling from her smile. "Please, indulge me; how exactly _ do _whales fuck, then?" She sits up from where she was reclining on the floor, directly in front of Stan's bed and crossed her legs, placing her elbows on her knees to support her head. "Listen, so what they do is- the guy whale. So; he's like, directly above her, okay? and they have to like, line everything up. And then he uses his giant fucking tail and like, pushes the tip in her, and just. Start's ejaculating like a fire hose." 

Most of the others groan in disgust or flat out laugh at the absurdity. Eddie continues to defend his hypothesis, asking anyone else in the room if they can "Prove me wrong, you fuck heads!" Bill leans up, presses his forearms into the bedding and angling his back painfully to look Eddie in his eyes. "Maybe the-there's, like, a thu-th-third whale that like, puh-pushes the girl up su-so she doesn't get pushed ah-away with the thu-th-thrust from the guh-guy." He suggests.

"No no," Stanley interjects, shaking his curls out and holding a hand up to interject himself in their argument. "They probably just find a shallow shore, far enough to swim but close enough where they can find like, a flat place and just- they probably just fuck like any other animal." Richie scoffs, rolls off of the bed and lands on the floor in an uncoordinated tangle of noodle limbs. "Fuck that, how the hell would they get any traction? He'd try to thrust and she'd just slide right off the sand with it." 

"Nuh-Not if there's a thu-th-third whale to stop them," Bill suggests, to the mockery of the others. "Maybe she floats upside down and the guy propels forward? If you align it right, it could work." Ben suggests, shuffling to accommodate Bill as he rolls over on Stan's bed to look at him. "But what if he mi-m-mih-misses? What if he ended up rah-r-ramming his dick in her, like, ch-chin?" Ben ponders this for a moment, glancing to the floor as he thinks about it. Before any of them can continue the conversation (See: argument over how wales actually fuck) the door to Stan's room opens and miss Uris stands there, nervous-looking.

"There's a misses Kaspbrak, calling for you Eddie." Eddie checks the watch on his wrist, notices how late it's gotten and falls back onto Stan's bed with a groan. "I shu-should probably get gu-going, too. My mom's bah-back in town and she wha-wants to spend the ni-night catching up." Bill stands up, pops his back as he stretches. "Yeah, my dad's gonna freak if he gets home and I'm not there." Beverly stands as-well, her cigarette having been shoved in her bra when Stan's mom opened the door. 

"Me too; my mom want's me to help her get her garden set up early tomorrow." Ben gets up after Bill, accepting the helping hand when he flinches the first attempt. Richie shrugs and states "My folks haven't been in the same room as me for about a month, I doubt they'll miss me if I don't show up for one night. As long as your cool with it, Stan the Man." Richie's parents, while being very good at making and keeping money, are not very good at being parents. The last time the group had agreed to test one of Richie's theories- that they wouldn't even notice if there were suddenly another three kids in their house- the results had been a solid two weeks of their summer spent in Richie's home without note.

It had been a fun week, no doubt. But suddenly realizing how lonely Richie must get throughout the days, they had made up a new system. Not one of them hardly ever goes to their own house; and if they do, it's never alone. Now that it's summer break, they didn't even have to worry about the separation found in a school day; they'll go back to spending nights at each other's houses, and Bill might even accept them coming over to his own, once everything with his father and mother cool down.

"Hey," Bill starts, right before everyone is getting ready to leave, "We should all m-meet at the tah-taco place on cuh-cust-c-Custodian street tomorrow. Ten?" Ben and Beverly nod, but Eddie winces. "I might not be able to go before like, one. My mom's probably gonna try and ground me again." Stan pats Eddie on the shoulder and insisted; "I'll get you out, don't worry. Can you give me one of your extra prescriptions?" Eddie stares, confused; Eddie always carries an extra bottle of his anxiety medicine, just in case something happened to the first.

"Tomorrow, at ten, I'll come up and say you left these here last night. When your mom answers the door, just sneak out the back." Eddie relents, hands over the orange container to Stanley. Devious little shit he is. Bill hugs the other Losers goodbye, walking bare-footed down the wooden stairs and out the front door alongside Beverly and Eddie, Ben having stayed behind to answer Misses Uris's question on how he's so young but getting an entire landscaping job done for his mother. 

"I'll see you guys tu-tomorrow." Bill waves as he starts pedaling his bike, her rusty joints squealing and creaking as he picks up speed, sailing down the street like no one can ever stop him; like he could do this _ forever _and never stop.

* * *

Bill made it back home in roughly half an hour, the sun already having set a long while ago; he leans his bike against the garage door and jogs up the front porch. His feet were sore and tender, dirty and gross as he pushes the front door open, walking into the dim living-room. His mother was curled up on the couch, a large glass of wine in her hands as she watches images flash across the T.V screen, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained. She watches everything unfold before her, uninterested. Bill was hesitant to approach her, his stride slowing as he steps up beside her.

"Mu-Mom? Are you okay-" She looks at him, tears welling back up in the corners of her eyes as she places her wine glass down on the table and shooting forward, grabbing Bill in a tight hug; she brings him to sit down on the couch with her, his head against her chest as she sobs silently. He sits there, frozen in a moment of shock before he wraps his own skinny arms around her waist, returning her hug. "I'm so sorry, baby." She sobs, her perfume clogging his throat for a second. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't- he just kept screaming. He-" Another sob wracks her body.

"Nu-No mom, it's okay. We're okay, weh-we'll be fine." He holds her tighter as she continues to cry into his shoulder; Bill hopes Georgie's door is closed, hopes he hasn't seen anything that would scare him.

"I won," she mumbles into his scalp, a few minutes after her hysterical crying had ceased. "The divorce. With how many witnesses, and-and his record. We won almost everything. He's in Florida now, with a friend of his until he can get enough money to get back on his feet." Bill thought back to the previous Christmas break; the amount of hospital trips for his mother. The black eyes, bruises, scars; all the broken objects his father had thrown his and his mother's way. His eyes trail over to the old family photos still hanging on the wall; of him, when he's barely seven years old, on his fathers' shoulders and his mother's arms wrapped around his father's waist. 

They had all been so happy, not too long ago. He misses early morning breakfast, misses trips to the lake, misses how his father was less of a monster, and more of- more like an actual _ dad. _He had taught Bill how to ride a bike, how to swim and cook and hold a gun and carve and write. Bill misses the man he used to look up to, but he had changed. Over the years, that look he had in his eyes changed; had warped itself from something stern into nasty; malicious and -Bill hates to think this of his own father- something evil. Something seeking out a reason to get angry, wanting to find an excuse to scream and throw things.

"We have enough money to keep us happy." She whispers. "I haven't- I didn't explain to Georgie, yet. I can't, I haven't even gotten over it, yet." Bill tightens his arms around his mother, promises her he'll explain everything when Georgie once Summer comes around. "It'll b-be another tuh-two weeks, but I'll manage." He says. "I wanted to go out wuh-w-with friends tuh-tomorrow, but I'll stay h-heh-here and help." She shakes her head, red hair splaying across her shoulders, her palm brushing his hair up from his forehead. "No, you go out with your friends for the day; I'll spend some time out with Georgie. We'll go shopping, and I'll take him out to an ice-cream shop. We'll be fine; you go be a kid for a little while, yeah Billy?"

His mother sounded so sad, so hollow; Bill knew what she was feeling. Lost, alone; sad. She just divorced a man she had loved so deeply not three years ago. Bill misses his father, yes. But not the man he'd turned into. He misses the man who would tuck him into bed, and kiss his mother on the temple every morning; not the man who would wake him up -on the few occasions Bill had slept in- by kicking his door down violently, screaming bloody murder at him. But he knew this was the best thing for his mother, the best thing to do for Georgie; it would only have been a matter of time before his father would have directed his anger to himself and Georgie, physically. 

Bill could never let that happen; he refuses. He had stepped into his father's way when in regards to the fights, earning a harsh smack and another lung full of curses and hatred from a man he once thought would die for him. 

He misses having a family, but thinking back to the night he just had with his childhood (and a few new) friends; thinking about how he and Georgie play, and how his mother could still piece herself back together, he realizes. He still has a family.

Maybe not the family he had before, but this one could be just as good, right? He could still make some memories, have those wonderful nights of playing and laughing together. He could make it. He refuses not to.

He can't _ afford _not to.

* * *

Bill had woken up a bit earlier just for today; had made his quiet way past his parents- his _ mothers _room, down to Georgie's and gently shook the tiny boy awake. "Billy?" He had whispered into a yawn, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his fist. "Cuh-Come on Georgie, we're gonna make mu-m-mom a nice big breakfast, yeah?" Georgie nodded, still tired as he climbs his way onto Bill's back, arms wrapped around his neck as they begin walking down the stairs.

"Dad's not coming back, is he?" Georgie asked once he was sat on the counter, eyes tracking Bill as he was gathering things from around the kitchen; pans, bowl, forks and spatulas. Bill didn't freeze in stride, but his head did swivel almost violently to where Georgie was sitting. "Wuh-What makes you s-say that?" He tried to ask with a smile, but it felt more like a cringe, or grimace. "Cause mom's real sad, but dad's not here. And all his stuff's gone. So he's not coming back, right?"

Bill debated on what to say, hand's busying themselves over the stove, grabbing eggs and cracking them into a pan, flipping sausage disks he had cut from a package. Georgie knew, to some extent, what their father had done. Bill had made sure the man was within his vicinity rarely, these days. Tried to avoid letting the man see his own son, in hopes that maybe, just _ maybe, _ that aspect of his life could remain untouched. But he knew Georgie still heard the fights, and the sounds of fists or other objects hit the wall; that he had been with Bill when he had to help his mother to the hospital, and that he had seen all the marks on both himself and their mom.

"Nu-no, no he's not. Would you want him to?" Georgie shrugged his shoulders, and suddenly let the subject drop; Bill was once again thankful for young children's short interest in things. Georgie went on about something he had learned in school, and Bill listened to every detail. "Hey, hey Billy! Did, did you know that, that a tou-r-tes-" Georgie had to sound the word out, and Bill felt his heart swell. "Isn't like a turtle? They're, they're like a land turtle. They can't swim like a turtle can." 

"Really? Why not?" Bill asks as he sets the coffee pot to start, pulling mugs down from the cabinet. He brought three plates down with it, letting Georgie down from the counter and placing him down on the ground, handing him the plates and asking him to set the table while he finishes breakfast. "Why don-don't you go wake mu-m-mom for us, yeah Georgie?" He watches the tiny boy scatter out of the kitchen, feet sliding against the tiles as he went. 

Bill places hot food on plates, pours coffee into his and his mothers mugs, and orange juice in Georgie's cup. He turns, abruptly to make sure all the burners on the stove were off, but-freezes. Because for a second, just a _ split second _ he had seen something outside the window above the sink. He hesitates, the coffee pot still in his hands as he steps forward, then back and stands there. He had seen a flash of white, speed past the window as if wanting to remain undetected. Like it was being secretive. 

Bill shudders, thinks back to Pennywise and his white paint, the shockingly ancient costume and sets his brow. He steps forward, pacing the coffee pot back on its heater and under its spout; he moves closer still, pulling the small floral curtain covering the narrow window and stares out through the glass. There, to the left he see's more movement and startles, jerking his whole upper body back as if he had been swung out at. But he still see's the thing move inwards, closer to his field of vision and-

It's a large, snow-white cat; shockingly blue eyes stare back at him. "Awe," Bill coo's quietly, looking at the cat for a moment longer before internally scolding himself for being so paranoid. Pennywise was just a bad experience, is all; he probably doesn't know where he lives. Bill smiles at the cat, feeling sorry for being so suspicious and steps back, letting the fabric of the curtain fall back in it's place. He turns back around and watches as Georgie leads their mother in the kitchen by her hand; she looks exhausted. Her eyes are puffy, although no longer red, and her face was pale, ashen as if she had just seen a ghost.

But then she looks up from Georgie's hand in her's and see's the table; the first thing she does is break out into a wide smile, one that accentuated her dimples and the freckles speckled across her nose and cheeks. She let's Georgie lead her to the spot closest to the entryway, and Georgie even went as far as to pull her chair out for her. She laughs and sits herself down, thanking Georgie as he climbs his way up into the seat on her left, the cup of orange juice in his hands before Bill even set's the food before them. 

"Bu-B-Bon Appetite." Bill stutters out as he sets the food down, seating himself at the spot to his mothers right. They all dig in, Bill's mother asking Georgie if he'd want to go out with her today; Georgie was more than ecstatic to go. "Can, can we go get cupcakes after?" Georgie asks, mouth half stuffed with buttered toast. His mother leans over and wipes the corner of his mouth with her napkin, pinching his nose between her fingers lightly; he squeaks out a laugh and tries to jerk his head away from her grasp. She managed to wrangle him onto her lap as he continued to laugh and squeal. 

Bill laughs, moves their now empty plates from the table, placing them in the sink and topping his and his mothers coffee. "Come on Georgie, let's help Bill clean up, and then we can get ready to leave; yeah?" Georgie groans but stands up, helps push all their chair in and move the rest of the dirty dishes to the sink. Bill ran hot water over the pans, plates and cups; snatching the small sponge from it's the holder on the corner of the sink, he drips some soap on it and begins scrubbing the dishes.

"Alright Bill," His mother was accepting the cleaned dishes from her son's hands and drying them off with a small dish towel. "Georgie and I can go upstairs and get ready, if you want to see us off; I know you were planning to go see some friends today." Bill and his mother both finish the few dishes quickly, Georgie continuously chattering in their ears as they moved. 

They had finished the kitchen in roughly ten minutes, and Bill waited for his mother and little brother to make their way upstairs before looking around the kitchen; the atmosphere was suddenly oppressive, heavy in his lungs and in his head. He feels like there's eyes on him, _ in _him; watching everything he does. Watching him blink, watching him move; watching his lungs expand and contract and his heart pump blood through every extremity. 

He feels violated, feels invaded; like no thought or action is his own anymore. Bill shudders and leaves the kitchen himself, stepping up the stairs slowly; he needs to shower and leave for the taco place. He didn't have a bathroom in his room, like Richie did; but there was one everyone else realized as his, not three feet from his room. He kept it clean, bottles lined across the rim of the bath-tub, and some in the shower as-well. He keeps a hamper in there, and upon locking his door, strips himself of his previous sleep clothes -which is steadily morphing into his jeans and T-shirts- and tosses them in the basket.

He washes quickly, perfunctory; hair, face, body then out. 

But when he peels the shower curtain back, he- doesn't freeze, per se, but there was a recoiling action done with his upper body. on the mirror, written in the steam was another message; written in somethings blood, just like last time. It read ** _ "Lookin' good there, Little Billy Boy." _ **Bill doesn't gag at the smell again, refuses to Give Pennywise the satisfaction of seeing him react. But this time, the blood was on a mirror; in his irritation, he takes the towel he had wrapped around himself before stepping out and had swiped it across the message, removing it in a smear of red. 

He exists the bathroom in a rush, leaving the door open to allow steam to filter out instinctively. His room door was left open and he makes a quick way inside, pulling a shirt and pants on as fast as he could, not even bothering to untie his shoes as he went. He heard Georgie and his mother in the living room, getting ready to leave. "Billy!" Georgie calls up from the base of the stairs. "Hurry! Come on mom wants to say bye!!!"

Bill makes his way down the stairs, evening out his breathing and trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest. What the hell is fucking with him?

Bill kisses his mom on the cheek as a good-bye, ruffled Georgie's hair and watched them pull out of the drive-way before mounting is bike and rushing out, trying to get there as fast as possible; he needed to tell the Losers what he's seen.

"Wow Big Bill, what the hell happened to you? You look like you walked in on Eddie's mom masturbating." Eddie whacks Richie in the chest, doesn't even verbally acknowledge what he had just said. Instead, he goes up to where Bill is letting his bike fall to the ground. Ben and Beverly were already next to him, and Eddie with Richie attached to his arm followed. Stan was inside, getting them all some drinks. "Suh-S-s-Somethings fucking w-wih-w-with me." He stutters out, heart racing now; he can't withhold the panic anymore. His mother's not around, so he doesn't worry about that.

"What? Like what?" Beverly looks at him, her face carefully controlled, but Bill see's it; "Yu-y-you've seen su-s-something, haven't you?" She looks at them all for a second, her eyes open and clearly scarred. Like she doesn't want to tell them. "It's my bathroom." She answered. "This morning, after my dad left for work; there were voices, coming from my sink drain. I leaned down to take a look, and the whole sink just. Flooded with blood." Bill reacts to this piece of information, leans in closer as the losers gasp or make a noise of disgust. "It drenched the whole room in blood. Then, afterward, there was a voice. Kind of like, like a-" Bill interrupts her here, finishes her sentence for her. 

"Like a c-clown." She looks at him for a second and nods, "Yeah, like a clown." And just as always, Stanley's timing is flawless; he steps out of the restaurant with multiple different cups in a holder, balancing his own in his hands as he takes a moment to drink it. "What?" He questioned, upon seeing all the other Losers gathered in a circle, eyes on him. 

"I th-think we have a bit uh-of a problem." 

_ "And lord help us solve it." _Bill thinks, watching as the others swarm Stan to both snatch their drinks and inform him of their connecting experiences.


	4. All Is Found.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise's interest grows, Bill learns what death tastes like, and the final member is brought into play.

Bill had gathered the Losers together, slurping on their drinks, to start the evening; before he even touches the situation with the clown -or what seem's to at least be pretending to be a clown- he was going to get them all some food. "Ah-Any money yuh-you've got on you nu-now, pass it; I'll gu-g-go inside and get wha-w-what-whatever I can with it." Bill proposed, his own six dollars already in his palm. Ben passes forward a five, Beverly passes three buck and Richie hands over a whole fucking twenty. "Where the fuck do you get mula like that, Trashmouth?" Beverly asked once Bill went through everything; now at 33 dollars. Richie presses his glasses further up his nose, leans in closer to her until his arm is laid out across her shoulders and proclaims; "I tend to just pull it out of my ass, but sometimes I sneeze and I shoots out some snotty cash, too." Stan had already bought everyone drinks, so he was counted out on principle, and Eddie almost never had cash on him; but he managed to pass up three bucks. 

"Th-t-thirty-six; anything speh-specific?" Bill asks as he pockets the cash. They all start arguing over what they should get; Eddie asking for a taco salad bowl, while Richie requests four boss burritos -to which Stan stated it was physically impossible to fit all of that in a persons body- which lead them to another discussion of what could fit in a human stomach. Bill was dragged into it when they asked him if he thought a person could fit a whole arm in their stomach if it was broken down. "I think a p-per-person could fit maybe hah-half an arm down his throat, buh-but it wouldn't really be cuh-comfortable. "

"Well what if he's, like, really hungry? Like, I eat a bunch of shit when I'm hungry." Richie bragged. "Yeah, okay Richie; you're always fucking hungry. Feeding you is like trying to feed a bottomless pit that just came off of a liquid diet." Bill glances at his clock and notices almost two hours had passed since he left the house; he wonders what his mom and Georgie are doing; he hopes they're both doing alright. Since so much time had passed unnoticed, Bill shakes the drink Stan bought him and is shocked at the simple sound of ice sloshing around. He could have sworn it was full not two minutes ago. Tim really does fly by fast, these days. "Hey," Eddied interrupts the Loser's argument, pointing to the tree line at the other side of the taco place, "Isn't that the home-school kids bike?" Bill looks over and-yeah, that's the bike he's seen the only home-schooled kid in Derry ride to and from other places around town.

"And isn't that Belch Huggins's car?!" Beverly sounded slightly hysteric as she stood up on her feet, pointing over a little ways to the left where the obnoxiously painted car was parked, half-assed, on the side of the road. Now all the Losers are at attention, food, drink and argument forgotten. "Shit. W-We have to ha-help him." Bill announced, his legs already moving forward, across the street and past the tree-line. He hears the other Losers splutter behind him, then Stanley yelling "Wait up!" as they all jog to catch up with him.

"This'll be the second time we've dealt with these fuckers in as many days; don't you think we're out-reaching our luck, here?" Richie asked, nearly tripping over an uprooted and rotten tree as he spoke. "I-I'm not letting them fuh-f-fuck with any more kids. Fuh-For all we know, they muh-m-mu-might be the ones who've-who keep-who-" Bill let's out a strangled, frustrated noise as he stuttered and tripped over his words. "Remember Bill, breath is a thing; you should catch it and try again. slower." Ben says, slowing him down with a hand on his shoulder.

Bill looked at Ben, breathed in as deeply as he could, released it and tried once more, slower and more calmly. "They might b-be the ones taking or kih-k-killing all those kids. And uh-I'm not going to let th-thu-them if I can help it." The other Losers fell silent as they continued on; tree's thinned out and transferred to tall grass. Soon, they were picking up the sounds of screaming and insults being thrown, splashing and curses. Bill speeds his gait up, lowering himself down at the knees as he went. The others followed suit, their footsteps silenced by the thick mud where the grass grew. They were on the scene not a moment later.

There the home-school kid was, on his stomach and his face forced into a pile of raw meat as their bullies screamed in his face, things like "Eat it mother fucker!" spilling past their rotten lips. "Shit, what should we do?" Bev whispered into Bill ear, her arm propped up onto his shoulder for support as they all crouched down, leaning on each other. They watch for only a little while longer, before-

"What the fuck is that!?" Richie whispered shrilly, and Bill pushed his head down further, telling him to "Be quiet, fuh-fuck nuts!" But the rest looked to where he was still pointing, where the new kids eyes were also trained; there he was. That nasty mother-fucker, in his clown suit and make-up. He must have followed them there. "Fuck, what's he eating?" Eddie asked, his voice breathy as he pulled an inhaler out, breathing the mist in to keep from hyperventilating.

They watched as his eyes strayed form the scene they were all watching and to the group of Losers; the home-schooled kids eyes followed the direction, noticing them. They were all still watching the clown as if transfixed involuntarily, and Stanley gasped audibly as he brought the thing he had half shoved in his mouth out and used it to wave at them. He had to tilt his head all the way back, allowing them all a view if the thing bulging out of his throat as he removed the object. It was a fucking hand-no, an entire arm. Shoved down his throat, as if it could just naturally fit it. The hand and most of the upper arm had large gouges, missing flesh and tissue, and as he used it to wave to them a giant flab of meat was nearly detached, left to flap along with the movement like a flag.

Beverly gags, leaning to the side to dry-heave for a few moments. The home-schooled kid screams as Henry flips him over, grabbing a giant rock in his had as he goes in, forward to slam it through the kids skull. Thinking quickly, Bill leaps from the grass, grasps his own rock and throws it as hard as he could, hitting Bowers in the head and knocking him back, dizzy. Bill looks back and encourages the others to follow, their eyes no longer trained on the clown. When Bill himself goes to look for him, he's-not there. Gone, like he just disappeared into thin air. Bill looks back at the older teens across the stream in time to notice no one was constricting the kid to the ground any more, and that he had started to make quick work of going to their sides.

Henry stands himself up and looks towards the group, currently helping the kid up to his feet and pushing him to the back of the group. He seems so angry, furious; nearly insane, with how her scanned the group. His eyes land on Bev, and he smiles. A nasty, cruel smile before speaking. "You losers are trying too hard; she'll do you. You just have to ask nicely." He drags his hands up from his dick, between his hip bones and to his abdomen while speaking. "Like I did." 

Ben screams, furious as he chucks another rock his way. Richie was first to join him, throws another rock their way and hits the tall blonde kid Vic in the stomach. "_ROCK WAR_!" He had screeched at the top of his lungs, before being hit directly in the face, his glasses cracking as they fell to the floor. Beverly steps in-front of the fallen boy and throws her own rock, hitting Henry again as his arms come up to cover his face. They created a defense line, protecting the home-school kid as they attacked. Henry got up and screamed at his 'friends' to "Throw shit back, dumb-asses! Don't let a bunch of fucking fag ass losers beat us!" Before picking up an obscenely large rock and throwing it at Bill.

He managed to get out of the way, ducking down before it could knock his fucking brains out and threw his own rock back, nearly nailing him in the guts. They pushed Henry and his shit-bags back, jumping into the streams water and picking up more stones, smoothed over due to the water. Another few good hits to important body parts later and Henry's two goons left, running back for the car. Henry himself sat, curled up in a little ball, arms around his head and hands quivering. One by one the Losers left, helping the home-schooled kid to his feet and allowing him to support his weight on Ben and Beverly's shoulders.

Bill was the last one to leave, staring down at Henry passively. "Duh-Don-Don't fuck with-with him, unless yuh-you wan't to fuh-fuck with us, tu-t-too." Bill turned and left, catching up with his friends quickly, trailing down from the forest and closer towards town, the celebration in main street audible from a mile out. "You guys shouldn't have done that," The home-schooled kid says, no longer needing support to walk, "He'll be after you guys too."

"Who, Henry?" Eddie asks, the water from the stream having soaked through his shorts leaving him to look like a drowned kitten. "Nah, he's always after us." 

"Yeah, Hone-school," Eddie adds, speeding up to throw an arm around the kids shoulders, "Welcome to the Losers club." The kid smiles and laughs, "That doesn't sound so bad; but how's about you call me Mike instead? Home-school seems a bit too long for my tastes." 

* * *

The Losers all gathered up at Mike's farm, the house clearly old and something of a family heirloom, generations of family hung up on the walls they were led past.Bill begins roaming around Mikes room as they all talk, throwing out some comments here and there as he plunders. He makes it to the large bookshelf in the corner of his room, piles of slides organized in a large box. Bill goes through, see's the titles, like _"Derry Main, 1743 estimates." _Scribbled in white sharpie.Old slides of what Derry looked like, where the older building had been built before being renovated and redone. Bill pockets the slide in his hand, hoping to have some sort of purpose. 

"We can go get some pizza, if you guys want." Mike offers, a ten dollar bill hanging from his hands. "Oh, w-we've got suh-s-some cash, too." Bill pulls out the thirty-six he still has from earlier plans. Mike hands him the ten; now, with forty-six dollars they could go out to eat at the buffet place near K-mart.

"W-We can gu-go out and get some food, if we wah-want." Bill suggests, pocketing the cash once again. "Yeah, I could eat a whole dam horse right now." Richie complains, draping his upper body against Beverly's back. She elbows him aggressively, chuckling when he squawks and rolls off of her and onto the floor. "You grew up in here?" Bev asks in favor of dealing with Richie's whining abuse from the floor. "Yeah," Mike says, gesturing with his arms and a shrug around the living-room, "Never lived anywhere else but here. This house has been in my family for about three generations now. And sicne it's so far away from town, my grandfather just decided to home-school me early on, instead of sending me out so far every day."

While the rest of the Losers knew it wasn't exactly true -Derry doesn't take very kindly to anything out of their realm of 'normal'- they decided not to press it; instead they began discussing the difference between their public school and the home-school course his grandfather had designed for him. "Wait, so you're already doing calculus? At fourteen?" Richie asks as they make their way out through the house, bikes laying out next to the dirt road they had traveled down.

"Uh, yeah. I did Algebra last year, and I'm already going through Sophomore English classes my grandfather organized a little while back." Bill himself whistled, having been tested for college grade reading levels when he was ten. "Ah-Au-And it's not, like, streh-stressful? Duh-Don't you get scared you'll fuh-fail?" Bill asks as they all pedal down to town, food on the mind. "No, 'cause I always know the only reason he puts so much work on my shoulders is so that he knows I'll do well later in the life." 

Mike's words hit Bill deeper than he thought they would; while he was always a good student, he didn't exactly have perfect grades. Last year he had straight A's, and tested with the highest scoring in his district; this year? He barely made C's and nearly failed math. In Freshman year. He's going to end up like some sad US homeless, drug addict statistic if he didn't get his shit together. "Aye, big Bill." Richie's voice snaps him from his path, and he jerks his head tro the side where Richie's bike was rolling next to his own.

"What are we going to do?"

And just like that, Bill's mind snapped back on track. They roll to a stop in-front of K-mart, the giant Chinese buffet stationed next to it had an obnoxious neon sign flashing _'12 and under eat free!' _To which Richie exclaims "I'm so fucking happy we're all so horrible at raising ourselves; we're all so malnutritioned and baby-faced enough to have skipped our next growth spurt." Richie slings an arm around Ben, whose ears flash red for a moment before he noticed no one was going to call him out; no one was going to target him. His shoulders drop slightly as they all make their way inside. The whole building smelled like pork and fried rice drenched in soy-sauce.

A woman at the front counter stared at them all, her eyes bored as she chewed gum noisily at them. "Where'er your parents at?" She asks when they try and just walk straight past her and into the dining area. "They're in Kay-Kuh-K-mart. We were all huh-hungry so. So they sent us heh-here." Bill lies smoothly. "uh-hu, just don't cause any trouble and we won't have any issue." She mutters, waves them on into the dining area without much thought. They giggle and snort their way through tables and into the back corner, ordering more soda when a large blonde woman came to ask them if they're thirsty. They leave the table in groups, two of them in groups of two and the last one is a group of three, stacking their plates as high as they can with salty Chinese goodness.

They were avoiding the upcoming conversation as much as they could, arguing about whether Chinese people really ate cat's and dogs or not. "I swear, I saw it." Richie exclaims loudly, fried rice spewing out of his mouth and across their table, "My neighbor's from china and he goes to the dog pound every week! Dude eats dogs like people eat, I don't know, eggs. Or banana's." Eddie gags and cringes all in one motion, before shoving his elbow into Richie's side.

"You're so full of bull-shit, Tozier. People don't actually eat dogs; that's disgusting." Eddie reprimands before Ben puts his own little tid-bit out there. "I mean, people have eaten other people before, what's to stop anyone from eating a dog or cat?" Ben stated, much to the disgust of everyone around the table. Richie, in stride, picks up a large cut of beef on his fork and wiggles it around the table, screeching "Why have you done this to me Eddie-bear? Why'd you have to eat me!!??" This time Bev's the one to knock the fork from his hand, landing on the floor with a bounce.

The table fell silent, then, the subject dropped. Everyone's eaten and no longer has any idea on how to avoid the inevitable discussion. "I've seen it around before." Ben says, and everyone's hearts collectively drop into their stomachs. "It was pretending to be a kid, from the factory explosion a while back. He- his head was just. It wasn't there. And It chased me around the lower archives for what felt like hours." 

"This thing we're talking about," Mike leans forward, closer to the center of the table so their discussion could be just a little more private, "It's the same thing that was at the rock fight, watching us all. Right?" Bill simply nods. Mike holds his pose for a moment, and Bill asks, softly; "Hah-have you seen anything?" Mike nods, mouth pursed shut. "You guys know the black spot? The one place that was burned down by that cult a few years ago?" Everyone's gone silent, even Richie; they've all heard Henry's horrible wishes to have been there on that day. "My parents and I were stuck in there. The fire-fighter managed to get to me, but my parents. They were trapped behind the door, trying to claw their way past it and into my room. By the time they got to me-" Mike chokes up slightly, and Eddie places a tiny hand on his upper arm slowly.

"By the time they got to me, my parent's hands- the flesh on them had all but melted down, down to the bone." Mike finally pushes out. "Whatever this thing is, it's imitated that. Hands, clawing and pushing at doors, screaming." Before anyone could say anything, before any condolences could be made a large hand slammed down onto their table, shaking and rattling cutlery. Everyone jumped, Bill wrapping both of his arms around Richie and Bev, tucking them as close to himself as he could while staring harshly at the man who had disturbed them.

He was a small, decrepit old man. Whiskers dark with grease and dirt, his face dirty and oily as it glared down at them all. But his eyes were just staring into Bill's own. His cheeks were black and sagging, his clothing threadbare and disgusting, like they hadn't been washed in months. Bill would normally just ignore people like this man, maybe offer him a drink if he had enough money to get the man a bottle of water; but his eyes. So icy blue, cold, detached yet with malicious intent; they threw Bill for a loop. They seem so familiar, and Bill just can't place _why _he thought that. "Can we help you sir?" Bev asks, shoulder still tucked into Bills side. He now has both hands placed upon their table, supporting his weight as he leans down until his eyes are level with Bill's own. Everyone else at the table is tense, afraid. Bill lifts his chin defiantly, staring back just as hard.

"You kids are plannin' to mess with somethin' a lot stronger than you's think it is." The nasty old man rasps, his breath similar to what someone would expect a rotten carcass to smell like. Bill refrains from gagging and instead threatens "If yu-you don't leave uh-us alone I'm screh-sc-screaming reh-rape." The old man does not move, and Bill does not scream; yet, anyway. The man persists, leans in closer until Bill can feel the nasty heat radiating off of his unwashed skin. "It'll eat you all up, all of you. Feat on your meat and slurp the marrow from your bones." Eddie gags, whimpers and the mans eyes start to drift from Bills own, over to where the sound emminated from.

In his panic to drag the mans eyes back to himself and away from his friend, He blurts out "Huh-how do you nuh-know what we're tah-t-talking about?" Bev and Richie flinch down deeper into Bill's side when the mans head violently swivel back over to him. "And _you_, little boy. You're it's favorite. Oh, it plans to _savor_ you for a long, long time. You're going to be it's favorite treat, Billy." The man smiles and his teeth are- gross, definitely. But they're also wrong; pointed and layered; the man left the table and swiftly made his way from the restaurant with a speed and grace no old man should be able to have. 

"huh-Hey!" Bill cries out, quickly releasing both Bev and Richie before standing and trying to follow the old man. He turns out of the dining area, past the woman at the counter and through the doors. He looks left and right, searching for the ragged old man; but all there was around him was an empty street, a few other elderly patrons making their slow way through the side-walks. Bill makes his way back inside, where the other Losers were standing in the lobby, stiff and unsure how they should proceed.

"Leh-Let's go." They all follow him out of the parking lot and out into the street, mounting their bikes and riding aimlessly for only a moment. "Weh-We'll go to my house, and figure it all out theh-there." 

* * *

Once Bill entered his house, he threw his shoes to the ground next to the corner of the hallway entrance, and as the other Losers followed suite Bill makes his way through the garage and fires up the projector. He's stolen one of his dad's old maps of Derry a little while back, and kept it folded up in the corner of the garage shelves. Sticking tacks to it's corner, Bill steps back and aligns the projectors light to the corners of the map. 

"What'cha doin' Billy?" Bev asks as she flops down on the old couch, dust flying up in the air; Eddie, who was close behind her, coughed violently into his elbow while trying to wave the rest of the dust in his face away. Bill steps back once everything is aligned and drops the slide in, stepping back and zooming so the image is as clear as it can get. "Suh-So this map's marked wih-with all the dis-deh-disappearances so fuh-far. Suh-See, there's one at the blah-black house." The mark on the map lines up with something called _"The Well House." _

"Anyone got a clue what the well house was?" Bev asks as Richie flop on-top of her. "I do!" Ben exclaims, raising his hand. "It was an old well hole, covered by a small shed. During the founding of Derry, it was the end of a trail from the founders." Ben explains. "There were 81 settlers who had signed the treaty; then the next day, they were all gone. None were left; just a bloodied trail leading back down to the well. A lot of people believed it was an attack from Indians, but there were no traces of a struggle."

Richie makes some sort of noise of discomfort, letting Eddie curl up into his side, lifting his arm and wrapping it around Eddie's shoulders. "So what, it just ate the whole settler camp? Over what?" Mike asks. "No clue, honestly. Mah-Maybe it was huh-hungry? Or angry." Bill offers, looking back as he answers Mike; everyone is piled up onto the ancient couch, Mike on one of the arms, Stan Beverly and Eddie squished up in the middle, and Ben perched on the back. 

"But why here? And why isn't anyone freaking out about it?" Beverly asks, leaning up from the couch and placing her elbows on her knees, "You'd think most adults would notice people going missing." Ben added. "Ah-And here," Bill points to the storm drains laid out through the sewer, where each mark symbolizes the last place a missing person was seen. "And then the-the blah-black house," He points again, to the three different marks surrounding the house.

"That's the well house too." Eddie starts shaking his inhaler and takes large puffs of breath, the sound filling in the tense silence. Bill stares at the projection over the map, hands trembling ever so slightly at his sides. While they all sit in silence, the slide inside the projector lifts up, and changes. Now the image shows Georgie, smiling outside of the church one Sunday morning. He and his mother and father were behind him, hands on each others shoulders and waists, wind ruffling their hair. 

Bill startles, because- no one switched the slides. The remote was laying across the side of the projector, cord tangled and knotted; and most importantly, unmoved. The slide moved again, now of them all on the water slide in a park they went to two years ago. Bill steps back, hands coming up loosely and without purpose, hanging up near his midsection uselessly. Another slide flipped, and now it's Georgie, smiling to the camera in his bright yellow rain coat and hat. The woods were dark and decrepit, horrible looking really. Bill doesn't remember this photo.

It's flipped again, and now there sits Georgie, on the ground. Bill screams suddenly, a choked off shout that hardly leaves his throat before it's gargled out; his body freezes in shock as he stares forward. Blood cakes Georgie's brown locks, brain matter splattered beneath him as fragments of his skull hang by a thin thread of flesh. His eyes were wide open and filled with wiggling maggots, the movements frozen in the photo. His skin was pale and swollen, grotesque in the way it made his cheeks swell. 

The next slide was worse; it was like whatever was doing this was showing him his own brother as he decayed. His skin was molted and bubbled, wet with body fluids as it swells, near bursting. His cheeks were torn open, worms, ants and flies making their way in and out of the boys mouth, opened wide and gaping. His tongue was hanging between his lips, holes eaten through the muscle. Bill feels someone trying to pull him back from the scene, but he just- he can't move. It's like somethings tied him down, glued his feet to his place on the floor.

"Mike!" He registers Beverly yelling behind him, "Turn it off!" Another person yells, and the final image Bill processes before the projector is kicked off from it's perch is one of Georgie, staring into the camera with a horrible, maggot filled grin as the flesh on his bones swells and puffs up with rot. The projector falls and multiple slides are strewn across the ground, the blurry photo now painted across the map crooked and hard to make out; but that obnoxious yellow of Georgie's coat is still visible.

Even unplugged and laying across the floor, the projector is moving and changing slides. Now, there's a disgusting, dirty room; an old mattress, blood stained and molded in the corner. The walls were a dirty brown, the wall paper remnants of what it used to be. The curtains framing a cracked, filmy window were torn and caked in dirt and blood, and the chair in the corner was tipped onto its side, cracked and rotten. As everyone stood still in shock, the slide moved again; now it looked like there was something on the bed, as if they were sleeping. 

The slides continued to change, the distance from the bed and it's unmoving figure getting smaller and smaller until the frame was filled with only the bed and it's occupant. They couldn't see the person's face; only their tattered shirt and pants, feet bare and legs curled up into their chest, making themselves as small as they possibly could. Their hair was short, and stuck up in odd angles, like they were sleeping. Pale skin and thin, with spots of freckles dotted around their neck and the visible skin through a hole in their clothing.

The next slide came up, and now there were legs, visible in the background; blurred, and as the slides began to move once more, they were stepping closer. And closer, and closer until everyone could make out the dirty silk pants of the bastard fucking with them all. IT leaned down until the lower half of IT's face was visible, just above the midsection of the body laying prone on the bed. With every slide, IT's hand came up further and further.

IT grabs the person chin in IT's claws, and there the slide sits for a long moment; IT's teeth visible through IT's nasty grin. The next slide came up suddenly, vast enough to catch them all off guard; IT's hand jerked the person head to face the camera, and in IT's hand was Bill. Bill jumps at the reveal, his face pale and eyes closed and Bill screams loudly, angrily. He knows IT's watching them all, can feel IT's eyes on them all as he steps forward, into the projectors light and yells at the top of his lungs "Truh-Try me you bah-bastard! I'll fuh-fucking kill-kill you!" 

Just as quickly as it had turned on, the projector turned itself off; the sudden lack of light in the garage was startling, and Bill could hear Eddie gasp and gag. "Hello there," A voice, whispery and light sounded out through the room, and The Losers huddled together as close as they could in-front of the couch, Bill in the outer most layer. "Fuh-Fucking clown," Bill says, posture straight and chin up as his hands continue to shake at his side. 

The voice wasn't coming from any one direction, but all around them; Bill nearly flinches when IT chuckles, deep and reverberating thorough his chest as it asks "Awwe, you don't want to play with me?" IT asks, voice changing from IT's light, airy tone to something gravely, deep; evil, in all things. "Holy shit," Bill hears Richie gasp out, fear audible in his voice. Bill feels a wave of _something _shock through him and he turns to where he knows Richie is, the grip on his shirt tight. "Rih-Richie, calm down. Weh-We'll be alright."

"Oh, what's the matter?" IT's voice was faster now, delighted as IT says "Poor little wise-mouth Richie too scared to crack a joke?" IT trails of slower at the end, and Bill takes his turn to speak. "The-The only juh-joke here is you, fuh-fuck-face." Bill can almost automatically feel IT's change in view, IT's humor gone from IT's voice as IT claims "I'll eat the marrow from your bones by the end of this. All of you will taste oh so very _yummy." _

"The only thi-thing you can eat is muh-my fucking ass." Bill states, stepping forward into the dark room and out of the Losers grip. He hears Mike and Stan beg him to step back, into the huddle; but he refuses. "You cah-can't try and scare me; I'm nuh-not afraid uh-of you." He stands there, the oppressive feeling he had gotten back in the basement last week now overpowering and heavy, hundreds of times stronger now than it was then. 

He stands there, in the darkness and silence of the room until he hears Eddie tentatively ask; "Is IT gone?"

The garage door was thrown up and light spills into the garage, and reveals the giant imposing figure before him. Right as the Losers begin to scream IT takes him by the hair in one hand and covers his mouth with the other, IT's abnormally large hand spanning from his nose to the bottom of his chin, his fingers touching cheek to cheek. Bill begins to scream from beneath IT's hand, thrashing and kicking out at IT as IT spins him around and presses Bills back into IT's disgusting costume. 

"You can do nothing to stop me," IT laughs, voice wavering in IT's mirth as Bill continues to struggle, "I'll peck off every single one of you, bite by bite. Crunch on your bones, tasty tasty children." Bill can feel IT's drool on his cheek, slowly making it way down to his chin and nearly gags. IT's face has lowered to rest on his scalp, cheek down as IT addresses the others, crowing each other for comfort and protection. "And dear little Billy here, he'll see it all. I'll make him watch as I crack your skulls open and turn your little brains to nothing but mush." 

Bill takes in a deep breath from his nose and clenches his eyes shut, opening his mouth as far as he could before digging his teeth into the gloved hand around his mouth. IT stops IT's mocking, stops IT's giggling and laughing. Bill even thinks IT's stopped breathing, if IT still has to do such a thing. Everything's stopped. IT tightens IT's grip on his mouth and Bill gags as blood floods his mouth, thick and- unnatural. It tastes like dirt and mold, decay and burnt sugar filling his mouth. He gags as his teeth sink even deeper into IT's flesh, a chunk of meat dislodging from the hand.

"ooohhh, now you've done it, Billy boy." IT growls into his ear, pushing IT's hand even further into Bills mouth. "Now you have to swallow it." Bill's eyes shoot open, wide and panicked as he looks to the Losers. Ben jumps up from their huddle first, runs forward the grab IT's other arm, still tangled in Bill's short hair and attempts to pull IT off of him. Next comes Mike and Stan, their arms around IT's midsection.

Bev and Eddie both grab table legs abandoned by his father and begin to beat IT with them. Bill is kicking out and wiggling, arching his back to get out if IT's grip before IT really does make him swallow the disgusting glob of flesh between his teeth. He gives one final kick and free's himself, the hand dislodged from his mouth as he falls to the ground. He looks back after spitting the part of IT's hand that had fallen into his mouth, and see's his friends still bombarding it with as much as they could, fists flying and furniture breaking over IT's back.

IT seems nearly unaffected though, and once IT notices Bills looking, IT grins, teeth layers and drool dripping from the corners of IT's mouth as IT brings both arms up and takes a bow, swinging IT's arms out and knocking Bills friends off of itself. 

"See you soon, kiddos." IT says, before the garage door is abruptly shut; Eddie screams again as Stan and Bill scramble to open it back up, light filtering in and revealing- nothing. Bill gags, can still taste the blood on his tongue as he runs out into the house, into his bathroom to try and wash it out. He catches sight of himself in the mirror; a thick, viscous black liquid is caked around the corner of his lips, down his chin and neck. He opens his mouth and see's his teeth, stained black with rotten blood.

He covers his toothbrush with toothpaste and get's to cleaning, and listens as the other Losers clamber up the stairs, towards him.

They don't have much time left to waste if they want IT gone.


End file.
